A    TOUR    IN 


EUROPE 


BY 

DENTON   J.  SNIDER 


ST.  LOUIS,  MO. 

SIGM.V    PUBLISHING    CO. 

210    PINE    ST. 

(For  sale  by  .\.  C.  M'Clurg  &  Co.,  Booksellei-s,  Chicago,  Ills.) 


Copyright  by   1).  J.  Snii>eu,  1907 


.♦'  V-  •.  , 


NlXON-.IoNE^    PlUNTING    Cc,   215    PiNE    StUKET,    St.    LoUIS 


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CONTENTS 


I.     From  St.  Louis  to  London     .     .       5 
IL     London ^^ 


"S  in.     Paris        ^^ 

J  ^    IV.     Rome        1^^ 

^^  V.     The  German  Loup 251 

VI.     Rome  II ^^^ 

VII.     Transit ^^^ 

VIII.     Athens ^^^ 

IX.     The  Dklphic  Loup ^^^ 

X.     Athens  II ^^•* 

XI.     Return  to  Delphi 529 

XII.     Homeward ^^'^ 

XIII.     Postscript 5-*^ 


317146 


A    TOUR     IN     EUROPK. 


Ifrom  St.  Xout0  to  Xon^on. 

JSFew  York,  Dec.  25th,  1877. 

Breaking  loose  from  friends  in  St.  Louis  and 
passing  a  day  with  my  old  father  and  my  two 
sisters  in  Cincinnati,  and  stopping  a  few  hours 
to  call  on  some  Shnkespearians  in  Philadelphia, 
I  have  now  reached  this  city,  to  be  on  hand  for 
to-morrow's  steamer.  Enough  of  the  Western 
Continent  for  the  present;  I  am  going  back  to 
my  original  home  for  an  ancestral  di}).  My 
people  for  many  generations  have  been  on  the 
march  westward,  and  have  never  turned  back;  I 
am  the  tirst  one  of  my  stock  to  do  so,  as  far  as 
I  know.  You,  my  philosophic  friend,  give  me 
a  forecast  of  what  the  thing  means. 

(5) 


6  FROM  ST.  LOUIS  TO  LONDON. 

The  journey  has  to  begin  now ;  I  can  hardly 
brook  another  hour's  delay.  I  felt  the  time  ripe 
for  it  quite  a  while  since ;  but  I  had  to  wind  up 
that  book  on  Shakespeare,  and  print  it,  before  I 
could  set  out  in  peace.  I  now  leave  behind  me 
one  bit  of  work  duly  finished,  and  begin  another 
very  different  —  the  Lord  knows  what.  Sol 
stand  this  evening  on  the  brink  of  the  Ocean, 
looking  out  upon  its  indefinite  expanse.  It 
would  be  idle  to  try  to  give  you  any  ready-made 
plan  of  my  journey.  I  onlv  know  that  I  am 
going  to  Rome ;  nothing  on  this  side  of  Provi- 
dence can  divert  me  from  that  purpose.  Think 
of  it —  Rome,  the  center  of  history,  religion,  art. 
"What  shall  I  be  able  to  make  of  it,  and  it  of  me? 
Heathenize,  catholicize,  or  diabolize  me?  — for 
it  has  certainly  shown  all  these  powers. 

But  as  regards  po88il)le  inner  mutations,  I 
cannot  prognosticate.  I  feel,  however,  though 
in  a  very  vague  way,  that  this  trip  is  or  ought  to 
be  one  of  life's  nodes.  I  have  come  to  the  end 
of  something,  and  now  I  am  beginning  some- 
thing  else.  What  is  it?  I  cannot  tell.  Per- 
haps some  potent  delusion  beckons  me  over  the 
water,  in  order  to  make  of  me  another  comedy. 
At  any  rate  I  intend  to  send  you  and  three  or 
four  other  friends  the  record.  So  you  see  I  am 
in  a  contemplative  mood  as  most  people  are  at 
the  beginning  of  such  a  journey;  but  contempla- 
tion,   shadowy  enough   of   itself,  thins  out  into 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  7 

infinite  space,  when  I  try  to  peer  across  the  sea 
beyond  wliat  is  just  yonder.  Over  tlie  billows 
settles  down  a  dense  fog,  in  which,  my  philo- 
sophic friend,  you  have  often  been  before. 
To-night  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  in  it,  after 
conjuring  it  up  in  response  to  my  mood,  with  the 
the  hope  of  having  it  lift  little  by  little  here- 
after, as  I  journey  toward  the  sunrise. 


On  Beck,  Dec.  26th,  1877. 

This  morning  the  good  steamer  Bothnia,  of 
the  Cunard  Line,  for  Liverpool,  started  out  of 
New  York  harbor,  having  on  board  not  more 
than  fifty  passengers.  I  was  not  absent,  though 
I  confess  somewhat  absent-minded,  thinking  of 
those  left  behind.  In  a  short  time  land  disap- 
pears, and  we  enter  the  domain  of  old  Nep- 
tune, whose  acquaintance  I  now  make  for  the 
first  time  in  his  own  palace.  Thus  far  he  has 
treated  us  exceedingly  well,  manifesting  a  divine 
serenity  which  breaks  into  favoring  smiles 
wherever  our  boat  ploughs  into  his  placid  face 
and  starts  it  to  rippling.  A  personal  feeling  I 
am  already  getting  to  have  with  the  hoary  old 
sea-god,  and  if  he  continues  so  propitious,  a 
hecatomb  of  bullocks  should  be  his  portion,  as 
in  Homer's  time,  particularly  if  I  can  ever  tread 
the  soil  of  Hellas. 


8  FBOM  ST.  LOUIS  TO  L02TD0N. 

At  Sea,  Dec.  26th,  1877  to  Jan.  6th. 

I  am  going  to  write  a  letter  to  you  every  day 
on  ship-board,  and  then  send  the  whole  batch 
from  London,  if  Neptune  permits  and  the  deity 
who  presides  over  the  storms  of  the  stomach 
does  not  rumble  too  much  in  his  domains.  So  the 
herald  Mercury  may  drop  several  messages  in 
your  lap  at  once  from  over  the  sea.  For  my  own 
part  I  am  resolved  to  practice  the  virtue  of  silence 
during  this  voyage.  I  have  recently  talked  too 
much  ;  I  was  disgusted  with  myself  both  at  Chi- 
cago and  Jacksonville  for  my  excessive  garrulity. 
The  result  is  a  Katzenjammer  of  the  tongue  in- 
fecting the  brain.  Such  is  my  resolve  now;  so 
I  shall  be  a  quiet  spectator  of  old  ocean  and  of. 
my  fellow  passengers. 

Going  out  of  New  York  we  had  a  smooth, 
beautiful  sea ;  everybody  on  board  was  gazing 
on  the  variety  of  scenery  which  even  at  this 
time  of  year  gives  such  a  charm  to  the  wonder- 
ful harbor.  It  grew  slightly  nebulous,  but  the 
mild  weather  was  a  recompense.  I  sat  with  my 
feet  against  the  railing  and  merely  gazed  into  the 
billowy  distance,  without  being  able  to  think  at 
all.  It  is  strange  how  this  indefinite  expanse 
makes  the  mind  indefinite,  how  this  immensity 
stretches  our  thoughts  about  it  into  such  extreme 
tenuity,  that  they  lose  all  distinctness  and  defy 
expression  in  language.     So  you  must  not  expect 


A  TOUR  IN  EUBOPE.  9 

me  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  the  ocean,  at 
least  not  now;  for  I  do  not  think  at  all,  though 
I  have  looked  all  day.  This  is  my  first  real  ac- 
quaintance with  it ;  who  can  be  blamed  for  being 
a  little  timid  and  reticent  at  the  introduction  to 
thi.s  monster? 

There  is  quite  a  good  miscellaneous  library  on 
board,  so  that  some  old  companions  are  with  me 
after  all ;  and  I  shall  not  be  slow  to  have  a  short 
talk  with  them  after  I  can  turn  away  from  the  sea. 

Dec.  27th. 

Still  an  unruffled  mirror  with  cool  but  not  cold 
weather.  I  felt  a  little  qualmish  this  morning, 
rose  early  and  went  to  walk  on  the  deck.  The 
exercise  in  the  fresh  air  soon  drove  away  every 
sensation  of  sickness.  But  I  had  another  re- 
ward, the  view  of  a  sunrise  at  sea.  Three  ob- 
jects took  part  in  the  spectacle:  the  sun,  the 
clouds  and  the  waves.  The  innumerable  little 
strips  of  gauze  seemed  to  threaten  the  luminary 
with  obscuration  before  he  rose ;  they  hung  over 
his  path  in  a  manner  which  the  fancy  compared 
to  a  large  pack  of  hounds  chasing  down  their 
game.  But  no  sooner  had  the  bright  face 
appeared  above  the  edge  of  the  water  than  they 
took  to  flight,  stretching  their  long  bodies  in  a 
race  down  the  sky,  and  from  the  sun  to  me  a 
golden  path  was  made  over  the  surface  of  the 
wavelets. 


10  FROM  ST.  LOUIS  TO  LONDON". 

This  evenins  we  are  in  the  Gulf  stream ;  the 
result  is,  a  very  balmy  atmosphere  with  a  good 
stiff  breeze.  Life  is  here  a  perpetual  promenade. 
I  have  been  curious  to  notice  what  of  all  the 
poetry  and  prose  that  I  have  read  about  the  sea, 
would  come  back  to  me  now,  as  the  fittest 
description  of  it.  I  could  hardly  believe  my  own 
soul  when  it  whispered  the  Odyssey,  the  oldest 
sea  poem.  All  the  images  which  it  employs  re- 
turn, and  the  types  which  Homer  has  created 
seem  to  be  absolutely  permanent.  I  live  among  his 
watery  shapes,  and  salute  them  as  old  acquaint- 
ances. First  the  sea-god  himself,  hoary  Posei- 
don, becomes  a  necessity;  this  immense  mass,  of 
movable  uodulating  water  upon  whose  back  we 
ride  is  a  living  thing  and  a  divinity.  I  can  hardly 
look  upon  the  sea  in  any  other  way  than  as  an 
animated  object,  the  huge  body  has  life  in  it,  it 
has  spirit  too.  Then  the  forms  of  water  which 
people  this  world  —  Tritons,  Nereids,  Nymphs  — 
you  can  see  them  all,  have  indeed  need  of  them 
all.  But  especially  Proteus,  ever-changing  but 
the  one  in  all  change,  gets  to  be  a  real  deity  in 
in  this  aqueous  world. 


A  TO UR  IN  EUROPE.  11 


Dec.  29th. 

This  is  now  the  fourth  day  at  sea  ;  the  weather 
persists  in  being  amiable.  If  such  continues,  I 
shall  not  behold  Neptune  in  a  pet,  and  I  almost 
wish  for  a  touch  of  his  wrath.  Having:  seen 
him  in  good  humor  now  for  so  long  a  time,  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  have  a  little  change. 

Already  by  my  exclusiveness  I  have  built  up  a 
kind  of  wall  about  myself ;  I  have  not  been  un- 
friendly, still  I  have  not  been  communicative.  I 
walk  the  deck  alone,  till  my  solitary  habits  have 
been  remarked,  and  people  avoid  me,  not  wish- 
ing to  disturb  me.  Everybody  is  getting 
acquainted  and  is  taking  the  measure  of  the  rest. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  chattering  at  the  table 
and  elsewhere.  Two  or  three  men  have  shown 
their  souls  in  complete  undress  before  the  whole 
company  by  their  prattle.  I  often  am  impelled 
to  exclaim  inwardly :  Let  not  thy  tongue  lay 
bare  thy  Holy  of  Holies  to  })rofane  view !  I  feel 
like  turning  away  from  a  person  who  persists  in 
stripping  his  soul  stark  naked  in  public.  It  is 
worse  than  bodily  nudity.  Disgusting  the  thing 
becomes  when  are  displayed  the  running  sores  of 
the  soul,  as  the  beggar  revels  in  showing  his 
paralyzed  limbs  and  phj'sical  deformities. 

You  can  imagine  with  what  delight  I  often  turn 
away  from  the  inside  of  this  ship  and  of  man  to 
the  outside  world  here,  seeking    some    communi- 


12  FBOM  ST.  LOUIS  TO  LONDON. 

cation  from  the  elusive  tricksy  spirits  playing 
peek-a-boo  with  me  and  with  themselves  in  these 
"waters. 

Dec.  31st. 

Do  you  know  that  I  became  aware  of  working 
unconsciously  at  a  problem  to-day?  I  have  been 
trying  to  form  the  sea,  which  falls  so  naturally, 
for  me  at  least,  into  the  marine  shapes  of  Greek 
Mythology.  Otherwise  the  whole  remains  bound- 
less, chaotic,  idealess.  Of  course  Homer  formed 
it  for  me  living  a  thousand  miles  distant  from 
the  Ocean.  The  old  poet  forces  us  to  be  plas- 
tic, when  we  once  catch  his  spirit,  and  to  work 
after  him;  he  makes  us  statuaries  of  the  Gods, 
impelling  us  to  form  them  out  of  the  water  as 
the  only  formable  material  before  us.  Phidias 
is  said  to  have  caught  his  artistic  inspiration  from 
Homer,  creating  after  him  the  Greek  Pantheon 
and  putting  it  into  marble.  That  divinely  cre- 
ative spirit  with  the  power  of  imparting  itsel<f  or 
some  of  itself  to  others,  may  well  be  deemed  the 
chief  boon  of  the  old  Greek  bard. 

Such  has  been  my  inner  occupation  this  entire 
day,  the  last  of  the  year,  as  I  am  borne  along 
out  of  the  new  back  into  the  old  world.  You 
are  deft  in  psychic  interpretation ;  tell  me,  is 
this  some  long-lapsed  ancestral  trait  rising  up 
from  the  submerged  world  of  the  past  within  me, 
at  the  view  of    its  primordial  source,  the  sea? 


A   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  13 

Really,  then,  this  voyage  is  making  me  acquainted 
with  myself. 

Jan.  1st,  1878. 

Behold  a  change  I  Neptune  has  answered  my 
prayers,  let  me  believe;  the  tall  waves  are  put- 
ting on  their  white  caps  and  have  started  to  rock 
the  ship  in  a  lullaby  which  makes  the  timbers 
creak  in  a  chorus  with  the  winds.  Half  a  gale, 
says  an  old  tar.  Enough,  I  cried  to  the  sea- 
god  ;  I  do  not  ask  for  a  full  gale  now ;  wait  till 
my  sea-legs  grow  a  little. 

The  much-expected  has  arrived  somewhat  un- 
expectedly and  with  a  considerable  sphtsh  of 
energy.  This  morning  I  rose  with  a  decided 
feeling  of  not  being  sea-worthy,  and  if  I  had  not 
hurried  out  of  my  berth  to  take  a  walk  on  deck 
I  would  have  made  an  unwilling  offeriuor  to  the 
sea-god.  The  entire  day  I  have  been  walking, 
walking,  doing  nothing  else ;  like  the  old  nag 
Dolly  in  the  treadmill  I  have  to  keep  going, 
otherwise  it  is  up  with  me.  At  breakfast  the 
wry  faces  and  turned-up  noses  of  the  whole  com- 
pany made  a  comedy  if  one  had  felt  like  laugh- 
ing ;  the  absentees  cast  a  funereal  gloom  over  the 
dinner  deepened  by  the  melancholy  silence  of  the 
dishes  and  glasses,  of  the  knives  and  forks. 

It  is  something  of  a  study  to  see  different  peo- 
ple grapi)ling  with  the  situation.  The  ladies  will 
not  suffer  the  remedies  of  sea-sickness  to  be  dis- 


li  FBOM  ST.  LOUIS  TO  LONDON. 

cussed,  or  even  to  be  mentioned  in  their  pres- 
ence, so  tyrannically  is  their  stomach  ruled  by 
their  imagination.  One  worthy  matron  sitting 
near  me  at  the  table  forbade  any  courteous  inquiry 
after  her  health  as  too  sugorestive  of  recent  ex- 
periences ;  I  have  become  afraid  of  my  own 
politeness,  and  now  I  shall  have  to  be  more  silent 
than  ever.  Let  us  rejoice  even  amid  the  gloom 
that  in  our  prosaic  age  the  imagination  has  still 
one  realm  of  authority ;  that  is  the  only  chance 
of  having  a  little  celebration  of  this  uncanny 
New  Year's  day. 

The  jolliest  fellow  on  board  was  Jack  of  the 
steerage,  now  taking  his  first  trip  across  the 
ocean.  He  was  laughing  around  on  deck  full  of 
good  humor  and  sportiveness,  when  suddenly  the 
qualms  overtook  him;  he  leaned  over  the  railing, 
yielded  up  to  Neptune  a  tribute  of  meat  and 
barley-meal,  then  raising  up  his  head  with  a 
shout  of  enthusiasm  he  uttered  the  words  of 
Byron  : 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean,  i^oll. 

I  saw  a  young  lady  looking  over  the  side  of  the 
vessel  with  such  intentness  that  her  eye  seemed 
to  penetrate  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  sea.  "I 
hope  you  are  enjoying  that  beautiful  marine 
view,"  said  I,  "  you  show  a  most  intense  love  of 
nature."  At  my  compliment  the  tear  started  in 
her  eye,  her  heart  was  full  to  overflowing,  her 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  15 

utterance  did  not  vent  itself  in  words — friend, 
you  know  the  rest. 

Jany.  4th. 

Nearly  all  are  again  on  deck,  the  waves  have 
ceased  their  rollicking,  the  Irish  coast  has 
appeared  in  the  distance.  Queenstown  is 
passed  and  the  ship  turns  up  the  last  stretch  of 
water  with  a  sense  of  parting  from  a  friend. 

I  have  become  attached  to  the  sea  lying  asleep 
with  his  infinite  power  —  an  image  of  the  In- 
finite. During  this  voyage  he  turned  over  once 
in  a  kind  of  dream  but  never  really  woke  up, 
still  less  showed  himself  in  a  frenzy.  No  limit 
to  him  in  any  direction,  yet  the  possibility  of  all 
limits.  What  seems  to  be  a  limit  —  the  horizon  — 
is  really  no  limit,  but  a  delusion  of  our  senses.  Ap- 
pearance cannot  confine  him,  he  is  virtually  a  God 
above  appearance.  Last  night  I  saw  him  in  his 
sparkling  robes,  he  was  indeed  folded  in  dia- 
monds. The  phosphorescence  followed  in  light 
graceful  curves  from  the  wake  of  the  vessel, 
producing  a  quivering  flow  of  brilliants  along  the 
surface  of  the  sea.  Old  ocean  needs  to  be  stirred 
up  a  little  in  order  to  shine ;  his  light  w^ould 
seem  to  be  latent,  unless  it  is  rubbed  out  of  him. 
Huge  monster  that  he  is,  he  must  be  worried  and 
baited  like  a  bear  before  showing  his  mettle. 
One  goes  on  reflecting  in  this  idle  marine  at- 
mosphere,    piling    fancy      on    fancy,     till    the 


16  FBOM  ST.  LOUIS  TO  LONDON. 

structure  rises  up  far  out  of  the  ocean  into 
Cloudhind.  So  let  me  continue :  all  divinity 
then,  all  genius  can  be  called  forth  only  by 
struggle;  the  greater  the  struggle,  the  greater 
the  divinity,  who  has  to  quell  the  tumult  if  he  be 
indeed  divine.  Nay,  in  a  stick  of  wood  there  is 
fire,  if  you  rub  it  hard  enough  —  fire  sufficient  to 
«et  ablaze  the  world,  were  it  ready  to  kindle.  So 
too  in  the  dullest  mortal  clod  there  is  a  divine 
spark  which  struggle  may  sometimes  chafe  and 
worry  into  a  flame  of  demonic  energy.  Oceanus 
would  lie  there,  the  lazy  God,  no  more  than  so 
much  dishwater,  were  he  not  prodded  a  little  by 
our  prow. 

On  the  Way,  Jany  5th. 

Eeached  Liverpool  at  about  9  a.  m.,  and 
groped  about  through  the  murky  air  to  the 
Station,  from  which  we  soon  started  on  the 
train  for  London,  where  we  are  due  this  even- 
ing. The  famous  English  landscape  bids  me 
welcome  by  veiling  its  face  in  a  fog.  After 
passing  through  miles  of  a  monotonous  brick 
desert  we  roll,  into  Victoria  Station.  London, 
the  first  landing-place  of  my  journey,  is  reached, 
lodging  is  found,  and  to-morrow  soon  fills  my 
dreams. 


Xon^on. 

London,  Jan'y  7,  1878. 

I  spent  to-day  and  yesterday  in  wandering 
about  the  city,  with  map  and  guide  book  in  hand 
trying  to  orient  myself  in  this  overwhelming  masi 
of  remarkabilities.  It  is  the  hardest  work  I  ever 
undertook.  The  physical  labor,  the  nervous 
strain,  the  mental  effort  combine  to  draw  upon 
human  resources  so  heavily  that  the  bank 
threatens  to  suspend.  A  little  strength  is  left  to 
write  a  few  lines  to  you  this  evening,  in  ful- 
filment of  my  promise  to  send  you  a  personal 
record  of  my  battle  single-handed  with  all 
Europe. 

It  has  become  clear  to  me  that  I  must  con- 
centrate here  chiefly  upon  two  points.  The 
first  is  the  National  Gallery,  which  has  gathered 

2  (17)  . 


18  LONDON. 

into  one  place  more  and  better  specimens  of 
European  Painting  than  can  be  found  anywhere 
else.  The  second  is  the  British  Museum,  of 
which  I  shall  confine  myself  to  one  department, 
that  of  Greek  Sculpture.  Already  I  can  feel 
that  this  has  more  to  tell  me  in  my  present  stage 
of  mental  development  than  any  other  sort  of 
human  expression.  I  passed  through  the  Greek 
rooms  to-day,  but  could  only  interrogate  the 
Statues:  Tell  me  what  it  is  you  are  saying? 
That  they  have  a  language  is  certain,  but  I 
shall  have  to  learn  it — which  is  only  possible 
through  an  intimate  personal  intercourse.  Af- 
ter quite  a  little  search  among  the  German 
booksellers  here  I  succeeded  in  finding  a  copy 
of  Overbeck's  Geschichte  der  Plaslik^  not  the 
latest  edition,  but  amply  sufficient  for  my  pres- 
ent studies.  Its  chief  attraction  is  a  very  full 
account  of  the  Elgin  marbles,  the  gem  of  the 
Museum,  which  I  have  already  seen  and  pro- 
pose trying  with  all  my  might  to  appropriate. 


London,  Jan.  9,  1878. 

I  woke  up  this  morning  to  the  sound  of  strange 
music,  the  like  of  which  I  never  heard  before. 
I  sprang  from  the  couch  and  looked  out  of  the 
window,  when  I  saw  a  company  of  British 
Red  Coats  marching  down  the  street  headed  by 
a  band  of  eight  or  ten  bagpipers   in    Iliglilaiid 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  19 

costume,  who  were  playing  in  perfect  unison  a 
familiar  air  of  auld  Scotland.  When  I  went 
down  stairs  I  learned  that  this  band  belonged  to 
the  Scotch  Fusileers,  a  battalion  of  whom  is  lo- 
cated in  this  vicinity  somewhere.  We  shall  have 
to  look  them  up  too,  in  the  interest  of  old  mem- 
ories of  soldiering.  I  have  frequently  heard 
the  bagpipe  singly,  but  never  a  band  of  them 
before.  The  color  of  the  sound  (Tonfarbe) 
seems  much  changed  when  thus  masked. 

The  odd,  to  me  weird  music  played  in  my  head 
quite  a  while  of  its  own  accord,  and  unaccount- 
ably drove  out  of  some  corner  of  my  brain  a 
reminder  that  this  is  my  birthday.  I  was  sur- 
prised at  the  fact,  though  it  has  often  occurred 
before.  To-day  I  am  thirty-seven  years  old, 
not  very  aged  nor  very  young,  just  about  in  the 
middle  of  life's  journey,  which  Dante  placed  at 
thirty-five.  Like  Dante  I  find  myself  "  in  a 
Dark  Wood,  where  the  straightway  is  lost,"  not 
indeed  in  Inferno  but  in  London,  which  is  often 
as  dark  as  the  Netherworld  with  a  sulphurous 
smell  upon  the  air.  Still  I  am  not  yet  of  the 
damned,  for  I  have  Hope,  a  worldful  of  it  all  to 
myself,  so  that  the  terrible  inscription  over 
Hell-gate  —  Lasciate  ogni  sijeranza  —  does  not 
apply  to  me  yet  {Leave  all  Hope,  ye  who  enter). 
But  if  this  be  the  middle  of  life's  journey  right 
here  to-day  in  London,  cast  me  my  h()roscoi)e 
for  thirty-seven  years  hence  in  your  next  letter. 


20  LONDON. 

Where  shall  I  be?  What  kiod  of  a  gtreak  shall 
I  have  left  behind  me  through  the  intervening 
years?  If  that  be  too  long  a  stretch  of  time  for 
your  prophetic  reach,  then  rede  me  the  riddle  of 
this  European  journey,  for  to  me  it  is  a  riddle 
and  getting  more  riddlesome,  as  I  seek  to  plan  it 
peering  into  what  is  to  come. 

But  enough  of  these  birthday  musings.  I  must 
be  up  and  off  to  the  National  Gallery  where  I 
have  resolved  to  devote  the  day  to  Turner,  in 
whose  huge  mass  of  color  I  have  already  groped 
for  certain  lines  of  organization.  I  take  notes,  go 
home  to  read  and  write,  trying  to  knead  chaos 
into  some  luminous  shreds  of  cosmos. 

That  last  sentence  had  ended  the  letter,  but  I 
must  scrawl  to  you  in  a  postscript  a  little  incident 
which  has  made  an  impression  upon  me.  I  find 
I  am  lodged  in  a  building  called  "  The  Shakes- 
peare," which  of  all  London,  I  stumbled  on  in 
the  dark,  without  knowing  its  name.  So  I  fancy 
a  Shakespearian  demon  is  still  following  me  over 
the  sea,  and  perchance  directing  me  after  I 
thought  I  had  shaken  him  off  and  left  him  behind 
in  St.  Louis. 

Great  Caesar  I  This  letter  cannot  get  itself 
ended  and  let  me  alone.  Another  incident  with 
its  impression  stronger  than  ever  has  just  now 
tumbled  down  upon  me  from  the  Unknown. 
The  foregoing  had  been  written  and  laid  aside 
for  a  moment  to  let  the  ink  dry,  when  I  picked 


A  TOUlt  IN  EUROPE.  21 

up  a  book  on  the  Lives  of  the  great  Painters, 
which  I  have  been  reading.  The  book  seemed 
to  open  of  itself  at  the  account  of  Eaphacl,  when 
my  eye  lit  on  the  following  statement:  "  Kapli- 
ael  died  on  his  birthday  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
seven."  What  an  earthquake  of  presentiment  I 
Tell  me,  O  my  Oracle,  why  is  just  that  sent 
to  me  now?  I  shall  never  reach  seventy-four; 
I  feel  I  may  never  see  you  and  St.  Louis 
again,  may  never  get  out  of  London.  Dear  me  I 
that  Hope  which  I  insolently  boasted  of  has 
gotten  a  sudden  wrench  at  the  hands  of  the  Gods. 
Good-by  in  a  hurry  ;  from  this  hellish  dream- 
land of  prognostication  I  must  flee  at  once  to 
the  rainbow  world  of  Turner. 


London,  J  any  10th,  1878. 

Yesterday  was  my  birthday ;  I  spent  it  exam- 
ining the  Turners  in  the  British  National  Gallery. 
But  nothing  about  them  at  present;  to-day  I 
devoted  wholly  to  Westminster  Abbey.  To 
get  the  full  significance  of  it,  one  must  see  it  in 
three  different  relations.  First  is  the  outside  — 
this  is  somewhat  discordant,  as  three  different 
styles,  if  not  more,  thrust  themselves  into  the 
eye.  The  two  towers  in  front  are  strikingly  out 
of  manner  and  even  proportion  with  the  rest  of 
the  structure;  they  are  too  jejune  in  ornament 
and  too  small.     Then  in  the  rear  is  the  so-called 


22  LONDON. 

Chapel  of  Henry  VII,  which  offends  in  just  the 
opposite  way  —  it  is  too  large  an  addition  to  the 
buildins:  and  is  overloaded  with  details  of  orna- 
ment  compared  with  the  main  edifice.  So  taken 
into  the  eye  as  a  whole,  the  structure  is  not  har- 
monious. But  in  spite  of  these  two  exceptions, 
the  effect  from  the  outside  is  noble  and  inspiring ; 
the  work  is  colossal  —  a  huge  cross  lying  there 
on  the  earth,  as  a  refuge  and  protection  to  man, 
who  can  flee  within  its  precincts  and  be  saved. 
It  is  a  bulwark  supported  by  immense  abutments 
of  massive  rock,  against  which  all  opposition 
and  all  evil  would  be  shattered.  It  is  large  too  — 
an  enclosure  for  the  whole  people,  the  im- 
pregnable fortress  of  Divinity.  Such  is  the  main 
impression,  though  many  hints  are  scattered 
everywhere  through  it.  From  the  outside  it  must 
be  seen  and  felt  to  be  the  cross  built  eternally 
as  the  refuge  of  the  people.  Thence  we  pass 
inside  which  gives  the  second  point  of  view. 
Here  again  a  discord  arises,  for  me  at  least,  on 
account  of  its  being  made  a  graveyard  and  a 
receptable  for  every  kind  of  barbarous  monu- 
ment. Such  a  place  is  not  for  Death,  it  is  Life, 
Salvation.  Still  if  the  Abbey  be  to  keep  alive 
the  illustrious  dead,  for  the  memory  at  least, 
why  make  them  intruders  upon  the  eye  at  every 
point?  I  take  my  seat  in  the  aisle  and  try  to 
keep  monument,  ef^gy,  and  inscription  out  of 
sight ;    my    eye    starts   with    a    noble    clustered 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  23 

column  rising  high  like  a  forest  oak;  the  fibres 
runup  and  shoot  out  into  limbs  which  intertwine 
with  other  branches   coming  from  other  trees ; 
the  whole  is  curiously  jointed  together  above  into 
a  projecting  roof  yet  with  interstices  at  the  sides 
between  the   trunks  to  let  in  the  light,  whereby 
comes  the  window.     It  is  a  grove —  "  the  groves 
were   God's    first  temples"  —  and  Architecture 
has  taken  thence  her  finest  inspiration,  and  cer- 
tainly her  earliest  hint.     But  the  feeling  is  pro- 
tection, safety,  refuge;   now  we  are  inside;  the 
outside,  the    world    can    not  prevail  against  us. 
Also   the  Cross   appears  more  prominent,  is  in 
fact  the  inside  itself.     But  we  are  to  become  still 
more  internal  and  be  melted  into   harmony  with 
the  Invisible  Spirit   of  the   structure.     This  is 
the  third  effect  and    most   complete :    Music   is 
heard  echoing  through  these  aisles,   arches   and 
chapels ;  it  is  the  voice  of  supplication  —  an  ap- 
peal  to   protect  —  just    what  the  structure  has 
said,  which  now  vibrates  in  unison  with  the  fer- 
vent anthem.       Architecture     has    been     called 
frozen  Music ;   but  Music  is  Architecture  voiced 
and  melting  into  harmony.     I  see  now  why  chant- 
ing belongs    to  the  Cathedral.       Sermons  must 
be  tame    and  inadequate  in  such  a  place.       The 
Gothic  is  a  rhapsody,  and  hence  this  letter. 


24  LONDON, 

London f  Jan.  26tk,  1878. 

I  am  sure  that  you  would  like  to  get  a  line 
from  your  boy  over  the  sea.  I  am  now  lodged 
in  Loudon,  and  a  tremendous  city  it  is.  Yester- 
day I  was  in  Threadneedle  Street,  at  the  Bank 
of  England,  where  the  great  monetary  transac- 
tions of  the  world  take  place.  What  a  rush  and 
crush !  Every  species  of  man  from  all  parts  of 
the  Globe  is  to  be  met  with.  My  little  hotel  is 
very  moderate  in  comfort  and  expense.  AH 
provisions  are  dearer  here  than  in  America.  I 
tried  some  oysters,  they  were  very  poor  yet 
more  expensive  than  ours.  Indeed  one  object 
of  my  trip  is  to  see  what  people  eat  and  how  it 
tastes.  Yesterday  on  the  street  I  tried  the 
popular  dish  known  as  stewed  eels,  it  was  sold 
on  the  sidewalk  by  a  man  in  dirty  clothing  who 
hands  you  a  dirty  spoon  to  help  yourself  with, 
often  putting  in  salt  and  pepper  with  his  dirty 
fingers.  An  unsavory  dish,  but  the  stomach  of  a. 
traveler  ought  to  be  well-trained,  and  I  make  the 
boast  that  mine  is  under  specially  good  disci- 
pline. So  I  took  it  down,  with  some  qualms  to 
be  8ure,  but  I  did  not  like  it.  On  another  occa- 
sion, I  tried  a  soup  which  I  saw  a  fat,  sweaty 
wench  dipping  out  to  a  lot  of  very  poor  people 
at  a  penny  a  bowl.  I  first  passed  by,  but  then  I 
thought  it  too  good  an  opportunity  to  see  on 
what  the  indigent  classes  live,    so  I  went  back 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE  25 

and  called  for  a  bowl.  But  —  oh  horrors  —  it 
was  too  much  for  even  my  plebeian  stomach ; 
the  second  spoonful  absolutely  refused  to  let 
itself  be  swallowed,  and  I  handed  it  to  the  red- 
faced  niuid  with  a  desperate  compliment:  "a 
life-saving  soup?  "  A  gamin  stood  by  and 
shouted,  "  give  it  to  me  "  —  which  I  asked  her 
to  do;  he  took  it  down  easily  at  a  couple  of 
gulps,  smacking  his  lips  with  the  delicious 
flavor.  Poor  urchin!  it  was  perhaps  the  first 
nourishment  which  he  had  had  that  day.  But 
there  was  one  experience  which  positively  dis- 
gusted me  with  traveling  —  the  re-appearance 
of  an  old  enemy  whose  acquaintance  I  made  in 
the  army,  and  whom  I  think  I  have  described  to 
you  already.  I  believe  he  must  have  overtaken 
me  on  ship-board ;  but  his  first  arrival  is  buried 
in  total  obscurity  —  and  there  let  it  remain. 


London,  Jan.  17,1878. 

I  have  taken  an  overdose  of  Turner,  I  did  not 
wish  to  see  any  of  his  works  yesterday,  and 
to-day  my  satiety  continues.  So  I  have  gone 
to  studying  the  Italiiui  school  of  Paiutiug,  which 
is  well  represented  in  the  National  Gallery. 
Here  too  the  mass  is  enormous,  and  the  whole 
descends  upon  you  at  first  like  a  deluge.  How 
can  it  be  put  into  order  so  that  the  mind  can  get 
bold  of  it?     The  single  picture  shows  an  ordr;- 


26  LONDON. 

usually  which  is  often  very  striking;  but  this  great 
totality  of  a  Nation's  Art  must  have  some  principle 
and  some  structure  whereby  it  can  be  organized. 
I  hunt  among  books  treating  the  subject;  finally 
1  light  on  Mrs.  Jameson's  Sacred  and  Legendary 
Art;  after  purchasing  it  and  reading  it,  I  find 
it  leaves  out  or  rather  has  no  idea  of  what  I  want. 
I  return  to  the  pictures  themselves,  and  stand 
before  them  all  day  thinking,  comparing,  class- 
ifying in  various  ways.  Then  I  jot  down  in  my 
note  book  my  reflections  and  draw  my  tabulated 
schemes  ever  varying  with  new  knowledge. 

I  have  gotten  most   satisfaction  from  a  divis- 
ion into  subjects  taken  from  the  Old  Testament 
and    the    New.     The  Hebrew    mind    was     not 
friendly  to  artistic  representation  of  things  di- 
vine ;  in  fact  the  Semitic  bent  turns   away  from 
the  plastic  principle   which    makes   idols.     Still 
the  Italian  painters  have  not  failed  to  reproduce 
many  figures  and  scenes  from  that  old    Hebrew 
world  out  of  which  the  Christian    springs.     The 
life  of  Christ,  however,  from  the  Annunciation 
to  the  Resurrection  and  Last   Judgment,  is   the 
grand    central  theme  of   Christian  Art,    and  is 
really  what  creates    it.     This   creative    soul    in 
Italian  painting  is  its  supreme  worth  and  attrac- 
tion ;  after  it  all  modern  pictures  seem  but  imita- 
tions more  or  less    successful.     In   like    manner 
the  Sculpture  which  comes  after  the  Greek,  lacks 
that    original    artistic    impulse    which    had    to 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE  27 

re-raakethe  Gods  in  marble;  no  such  inner  neces- 
sity of  their  production  can  exist  in  our  world. 
These  Italian  jbictures  rouse  the  desire  of  see- 
ing the  country  which  produced  them  in  such 
flowery  abundance.  The  same  emotion  is  excited 
by  the  Greek  statues.  The  Northern  or  Teu- 
tonic impulse  to  break  over  the  Alps  southward 
into  the  Mediterranean  sunlands,  an  impulse 
which  runs  quite  through  all  European  History 
from  the  invasions  of  the  Barbarians  till  the  pres- 
ent, can  still  be  felt  in  London — I  believe  I  feel 
it  myself.  The  marriage  of  Faust  and  Helen, 
the  most  striking  symbolic  act  in  Goethe's  great 
poem,  is  still  going  on,  for  it  celebrates  the 
spiritual  union  of  the  two  halves  of  Europe 
The  American  through  inheritance  will  take  part 
in  the  wedding,  as  he  shares  in  the  ancestral 
impulse.  Later  I  may  give  you  some  account  of 
the  nuptials. 

London,  Jan'y  18,  1878. 

It  is  now  about  noon,  and  I  am  writinsr  this 
letter  by  gaslight;  even  this  furnishes  hardly 
enough  illumination  to  see  what  I  write.  The 
street  lamps  are  lit,  and  from  the  neighboring 
houses  comes  an  indistinct  yellow  glare  of  the 
lights.  So  you  see  I  am  enjoying  the  luxury  of 
a  London  fog  which,  however,  is  not  fog  wholly 
but  a  mixture  of  every  kind  of  smoke  and  gas 
under  heaven.     Vision  is  not  merely  obstructed, 


28  LONDON. 

but  throat  and  lungs  are  highly  irritated ;  if  one 
hurries  so  as  to  cause  rapid  breathing,  one  is 
literally  choked.  I  thought  I  would  suffocate 
this  morning  in  m}"^  walk  through  St.  James 
Park ;  but  b}^  holding  mantle  before  mouth  and 
nose  I  succeeded  in  seiving  the  air  of  a  part  of  its 
offensive  qualities. 

Moreover,  I  have  been  in  London  two  weeks 
already  and  I  have  not  beheld  the  face  of  the 
sun  during  that  time.  It  is  always  cloudy  if  not, 
foggy  —  this  is  true  not  only  of  London  but  of 
England,  for  a  go©d  part  of  the  year.  It  is  now 
manifest  to  me  why  Englishmen  have  done  so 
little  in  the  plastic  arts :  the  truth  is  there  is  no 
light  here  by  which  to  see  works  of  this  kind. 
Form  demands  strong  light,  indeed  sunlight; 
every  edge  must  be  seen,  every  part  illuminated. 
But  here  one  positively  can  not  see  the  little  per- 
fections which  make  up  Art ;  at  best  the  outlines 
are  dimmed  and  the  works  grow  dingy  in  this 
atmosphere. 

Where  Phoebus  Apollo  smiles  not,  there 
can  not  be  much  original  Art.  Only  in  his 
sunny  glance  do  these  plastic  shapes  leap  forth 
from  the  hand  of  the  Artist,  endowed  with 
life.  But  it  is  remarkable  how  much  of  Greek 
and  Italian  Art  has  found  its  way  to  these  dim 
latitudes  —  a  perpetual  reminiscence  of  the  lands 
of   the  Sun.     America  is  a  much  brighter  clime 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  89 

than  England   and,  I    think,  will  be  a  home  for 
Art  much  more  congenial  than  this  country. 

But  there  is  another  ground  for  the  inferior 
place  which  England  has  always  occupied  in 
Plastic  Art.  You  may  laugh  at  me,  but  I  shall 
tell  you  my  opinion  —  it  results  from  the  peculi- 
arity of  English  women.  First  of  all  they  are 
no  dressers.  Yesterday  the  opening  of  Parlia- 
ment took  place,  and  all  London  from  the  proud- 
est peeress  to  the  poorest  plebeian,  were  out  on 
the  streets.  The  aristocrats  went  dashing  by 
in  their  blazoned  carriages,  the  middle  classes 
brushed  past  me  on  foot  —  I  believe  there  is  no 
exaggeration  in  saying,  the  English  women  are 
no  dressers.  That  is,  they  lack  taste,  lack  sense 
of  form  and  harmony.  But  there  is  a  second 
inferiority  —  they  have  no  external  forms,  at 
least  not  beautiful.  Hawthorne  complained  long 
ago  that  they  were  beefy.  This  thick  dumpy 
shape  of  the  women  is  almost  universal ;  nor  are 
they  able  to  conceal  it  by  skillful  dressing.  I 
need  not  say  that  such  a  shape  has  neither 
majesty  on  the  one  hand  nor  grace  on  the  other. 
This  seems  perhaps  a  harsh  charge,  but  it  is  the 
result  of  my  observation  for  two  weeks  at  the 
Museum,  at  the  National  Gallery,  and  on  the 
streets. 

To  be  sure  there  are  exceptions,  perhaps  many 
of  them,  but  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  misrep- 
resented the  general  type.     Now  when  we  reflect 


30  LONDON. 

that  the  highest  ideal  is  usually  embodied  in  the 
form  of  a  woman,  and  that  Art  itself  may  be 
called  feminine  —  Das  Ewig-weibliche^  in  the 
language  of  Goethe  —  we  can  have  an  idea  of  the 
effect  of  the  female  national  type  upon  the  Art 
of  a  nation.  The  typical  Englishwoman  cannot 
possibly  inspire  a  feeling  for  beautiful  form,  and 
the  English  artist  must  turn  away  from  his 
country  for  his  ideals  —  which  means,  there  is 
no  English  plastic  art.  Hence  England's  great- 
est painters  have  taken  refuge  in  landscape.  The 
most  graceful  woman  I  have  seen  in  London  was 
talking  French,  and  was  evidently  a  French- 
woman. 

Having  said  some  unfavorable  things  of  the 
Englishwoman,  I  must  do  her  the  justice  of 
stating  that  she  seems  to  be  the  most  domestic 
woman  in  the  world  —  a  far  nobler  quality  than 
any  beauty  of  form.  Everywhere  one  sees 
mothers  walking  with  their  children  in  the  parks, 
but  seldom  the  father  appears.  To-day  I  noticed 
a  lady  very  richly  dressed  with  two  little  girls 
dressed  just  like  her,  exact  miniatures  of  the 
mother,  who  had  given  to  the  child  just  what 
she  was,  as  it  were  saying,  these  are  mine,  be- 
hold the  resemblance.  The  mother,  the  wife  — 
but  here,  young  ladies,  I  had  better  drop  this 
subject,  observing  that  the  Englishwoman  has 
not  the  external  element  of  form,  but  has  su- 
premely   the    internal    element     of    character. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  31 

Hence  she  is  poetic,  but  not  plastic;  we  can  thus 
account  for  the  presence  of  a  Shakespeare  and 
the  absence  of  a  Raphael  or  Canova. 

I  forgot  that  cne  of  your  group  is  of  English 
descent,  nay  of  noble  descent  — pardon  my  free- 
dom, it  is  merely  an  opinion,  an  impression.  I 
seek  to  let  everything  and  everybody  stamp 
themselves  on  my  mind,  just  as  they  are,  with- 
out adding  any  crotchets  of  my  own.  Perhaps 
the  picture  will  alter  after  more  information= 
But  I  have  often  racked  my  brain  for  a  reason 
why  this  land  of  greatest  poets  should  be  utterly 
devoid  of  other  kinds  of  artists,  except  possibly 
some  architects.  Such  is  my  solution  —  there  is 
no  sun,  there  is  no  ideal  form  of  woman.  When 
I  go  to  Italy,  1  may  change  my  mind. 

You  —  I  mean  you  all,  for  I  imagine  myself 
now  talking  to  four  young  ladies  —  would  often 
laugh  and  perhaps  be  often  disgusted,  were  you 
to  see  me  in  my  various  situations  and  adven- 
tures. I  am  totally  unknown,  and  revel  in  the 
idea  of  not  always  acting  with  dignity,  indeed  of 
not  always  acting  with  propriety.  To-day  I 
mingled  with  the  crowd  of  dirty  laborers  before 
Parliament  House,  bought  a  penny's  worth  of 
gingerbread,  sat  down  on  a  stone  and  ate  my 
homely  repast  in  the  heart  of  London !  There  I 
hear  the  people  utter  themselves,  and  see  John 
Bull  in  undress — the  heaving  of  the  national 
heart  can  thus  be  discerned  without  its  artificial 


32  LONDON. 

covering.  I  chat  with  beggars,  street-sweepers, 
drunkards;  go  into  grog-shops,  market-places, 
long-winding  filthy  alleys  —  but  I  shall  shock 
you  if  I  continue.  Here  I  am  not  a  member  of 
society  but  a  traveler,  yea  an  outcast,  bent  on 
seeing— to  that  character  I  shall  be  true  till  I 
return  to  St.  Louis,  when  I  propose  to  be  grave 
the  rest  of  my  life,  aye  dignified,  if  I  can. 


London^  Jan'y  19ih,  1878, 

I  expected  ere  this  to  be  in  Kome,  but  I  have 
found  it  so  profitable  to  stay  and  study  for  a 
while  in  London,  that  I  am  still  undecided  when 
I  shall  leave.  The  English  have  brought  to 
their  nebulous  climate  so  many  of  the  beautiful 
things  of  the  South  that  one  cannot  tear  himself 
away  from  them  without  paino  The  British 
Museum  is  the  brightest  spot  that  I  know  of, 
for  in  ic  are  found  all  those  ancient  statues 
which  may  be  truly  called  children  of  the  Sun. 
Foggy  London  seems  the  most  uncongenial  abode 
for  them  on  the  face  of  the  globe ;  they  appear 
to  me  almost  to  shiver  standing  up  there  on  their 
pedestals  so  lightly  draped  or  entirely  naked. 
Then  again  the  lack  of  light  is  most  serious,  the 
perfect  outline  of  form  becomes  dim  or  is 
wholly  lost  in  this  unsunny  atmosphere.  Every- 
thing about  these  beautiful  shapes  speaks  almost 
mournfully:   "  this  not  my  native  country,  take 


A  roUE  IN  EUROPE.  33 

me  away  to  the  land  of  the  Sun."  Like  Mig- 
non  I  imagine  I  hear  their  talks  and  sympathize 
with  their  sorrowful  longing.  They  are  in  the 
most  direct  contradiction  with  their  surround- 
ings, and  certainly  it  requires  no  great  amount 
of  sensitiveness  to  feel  their  exiled  condition. 
Yet  one  must  overcome  this  incongruity,  and  enter 
into  their  presence  in  order  to  look  upon  and  be 
filled  with  their  glorious  forms  —  forms,  one 
may  say,  of  eternal  sunshine.  They  give  a 
foretaste  of  Italy  and  the  South  which  almost 
turns  to  suffering  through  the  intense  longing 
which  they  excite.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  not 
now  stop  at  Rome  so  long,  but  must  continue 
my  journey  till  I  reach  Athens  and  behold  the 
fragments  of  the  Parthenon. 

I  confess  that  the  objects  which  I  have  here 
seen  with  the  greatest  pleasure  are  the  sculptures 
from  Athens  in  the  Elgin  Room  of  the  British 
Museum.  It  may  be  that  I  was  better  prepared 
for  their  appreciation  on  account  of  a  little  study 
which  I  gave  them  over  ten  years  ago;  cer- 
tain it  is  that  they  have  furnished  as  yet  my  chief 
artistic  enjoyment.  I  relished  them  quite  from 
the  start,  though  I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  I 
fully  fathomed  them  at  that  time,  nor  do  I  now. 
The  Parthenon  has  completely  tilled  me;  it  was 
one  of  the  greatest  works  of  beauty  that  has 
been  seen  upon  this  planet  of  ours.  In  this 
Elgin  Room  its  sculptured  fragments  have  been 

8 


34  LONDON. 

piously  gathered  together  and  placed  in  some- 
thing like  sequence  and  harmony.  The  original 
temple  with  its  immense  wealth  of  artistic  orna- 
ments gradually  builds  itself  anew  in  the  imagi- 
nation ;  we  first  behold  the  absolutely  harmonious 
structure  as  a  whole,  viewing  it  from  a  distance; 
then  we  approach  to  the  front  and  gaze  long  on 
the  wonderful  figures  of  the  pediment ;  next  we 
pass  around  the  building  on  the  outside  and  look 
at  the  so-called  metopes  in  the  frieze ;  then  we 
enter  the  colonnades  where  new  and  most  beautiful 
decorations  in  low  relief  fix  the  eye; — this  is 
what  I  have  been  doing  for  some  days  already, 
and  must  continue  to  do  till  I  can  recover  my 
lost  self.  I  lounge  on  the  benches  before  the 
temple  all  day,  and  idly  look  up  at  Apollo  rising 
from  the  sea,  reining-in  the  horses  of  the  sun; 
what  an  arm  is  his,  swelling  like  the  waves  of 
the  ocean  itself!  But  the  eight  draped  goddesses 
there  in  succession  ;  — whence  and  who  are  you? 
So  I  try  to  hear  their  voices  and  get  their  secret ;  I 
haunt  daily  their  abode,  like  a  living  person  amid 
departed  spirits. 

London,  Jan' y  22d,  1878. 

With  your  interest  in  the  workmg  of  political 
institutions,  my  legal  friend,  it  would  be  worth 
your  while  to  be  now  in  England.  Parliament 
has  just  opened,  —  the  question  is,  shall  we  go 
to  war  with  Russia?  England  is  very  unwilling 
to  fight,  but  I  believe  that  her  people  have  come 


A   TOUR  AV  EUROPE.  85 

to  the  conclusion  that  a  great  national  necessity  is 
overshadowing  her  peaceful  pursuits — that  na- 
tionality demands  war.  Of  course,  there  are  two 
parties,  the  one  for  peace,  the  other  for  fight ;  I 
stand  aloof  and  listen  to  their  argumentation  in 
the  newspapers  with  much  interest.  I  confess 
that  my  feelings  are  but  little  enlisted  ow  either 
side.  I  am  a  spectator  and  from  my  quiet 
height  I  try  to  observe  the  play  of  principle,  of 
interest  and  of  Human  Nature  generally. 

England  is  just  now  in  a  state  of  struggle  with 
herself;  feeling  that  she  must  do  something  she 
can  not  make  up  her  mind  exactly  what  is  to  be 
done.  Like  the  countryman  who  had  his  hands 
on  the  Galvanic  Battery,  she  can't  let  go  of  the 
thing,  but  it  makes  her  dance.  The  air  is  full 
of  discussion,  confusion,  uncertainty.  The 
peace  party  has  two  main  points  of  view:  the 
commercial  and  the  ethical.  War  is  unfavorable 
to  commerce  and  the  Eno;lish  are  first  a  commer- 
cial  people  —  that  is  the  one  argument  in  its 
essence.  But  it  ignores  the  higher  principle  of 
nationality  which  alone  can  secure  commerce. 
The  commercial  view  is  that  of  the  shop-keeper 
whose  world  is  inclosed  in  the  walls  of  his  petty 
booth,  who  is  not  even  conscious  of  his  total  de- 
pendence on  what  is  outside  of  him. 

But  the  most  interesting  conflict  going  on  at 

o  or? 

present  is  between  the  Moral  and  the  National. 
There    is  the    Quaker  view  which  believes  in  no 


36  LONDON. 

war,  which  dwells  upon  the  suffering  and  the 
corruption  which  result  therefrom,  and  finally 
pilhirs  itself  upon  our  universal  humanity.  This 
party  is  represented  by  the  famous  Radical,  John 
Bright,  who  has  recently  made  a  speech  in 
deprecation  of  all  war  and  of  the  Crimean  War 
in  particular.  Gladstone  leans  to  the  same  side, 
and  in  fact  the  wh«lo  liberal  party  which  is 
strongly  tinctured  with  humanitarianism,  often 
vero-ino:  toward  downright  sentimentalism.  Of 
course  it  is  the  old  struggle  of  which  you  have 
heard  me  speak  so  often;  nationality  may  de- 
mand the  temporary  sacrifice  of  morality  which 
the  purely  moral  man  refuses  to  make.  But 
then  is  England  a  nation?  If  she  is  and  intends 
to  remain  one,  she  must  defend  nationality  at 
whatever  cost.  Now  it  is  just  this  instinct  which 
is  starting  to  manifest  itself  mightily  in  the  peo- 
ple, and  it  is  most  interesting  to  watch  its  move- 
ments. It  takes  on  the  most  alien  forms,  usually 
clothing  itself  in  the  garb  of  self-interest  —  as 
for  instance,  "  we  must  protect  our  Eastern 
empire,  our  commercial  routes,  our  trade  with 
the  Orient,  etc."  —  sometimes  it  invokes  national 
honor  or  even  national  ambition .  But  this  par- 
ticular instinct  is  wonderful,  so  honest,  so  deep- 
reaching,  and,  I  assert,  within  its  proper  sphere 
so  unerring.  Cultivated  reflection  would  destroy 
the  nation,  were  it  not  buttressed  by  the  people  — 


A  TOUR  IN"  EUROPE.  37 

mark  well,  I  do  not  mean  the  populace  but  the 
people.     Good-day,  let  me  take  my  hat  now. 


London,  Jan'y  23rd,  1878. 

I  was  at  Triibner'.s  a  few  days  ago  to  see  if  the 
Journal  [of  Speculative  Philosophy]  had  arrived, 
for  I  was  very  desirous  of  reading  your  review. 
But  it  had  not  yet  come.  I  find  that  this  house 
as  yet  knew  nothing  of  the  new  book  [on  Shakes- 
peare],  not  even  that  it  had  appeared.  Well, 
what  else  could  have  been  expected?  I  would 
have  been  much  surprised  to  have  found  it 
there. 

I  have  now  been  in  London  almost  three 
weeks,  much  longer  than  I  at  first  intended,  as 
it  was  my  purpose  to  remain  here  a  good  while 
on  my  way  back.  But  so  much  is  gathered  in 
the  British  nmseum  and  in  the  National  Gallery 
that  I  resolved  not  to  miss  the  opportunity.  So 
I  set  to  work  quite  diligently,  but  as  was  natural 
under  the  circumstances,  I  undertook  too  much. 
I  have  been  mainly  interested  in  the  works  of 
ancient  Sculpture  from  the  Parthenon  and  other 
temples  of  the  Acropolis,  and  in  the  frieze  of 
Phigalia  (look  into  your  Overbeck)  which  is  a 
most  wonderful  work,  having  almost  the  subjec- 
tive intensity  of  Painting  although  it  is  supposed 
to  2o  back  to  the  a^e  of  Phidias. 

Since   completing     this     last     paragraph,    I 


'^\^±^Q 


38  LONDON. 

jumped  up  and  raa  to  the  window  in  order  to 
see  the  sun  whose  face  has  not  before  been 
visible  while  I  have  been  in  England.  From 
such  a  statement  you  can  see  how  imperfectly 
this  climate  can  show  works  of  Plastic  Art,  in 
which  the  play  of  light  upon  every  edge  and  at 
great  distances  is  required.  Positively  the  pub- 
lic monuments  here  cannot  be  seen;  half  the 
time  I  have  not  been  able  to  see  to  the  top  of 
Nelson's  monument,  though  light  ma}'-  be  better 
at  other  seasons  of  the  year.  Thus  the  figures 
stand  in  the  fog  like  colossal  shadows,  in  dim 
but  huge  outlines.  One  is  reminded  of  the 
heroes  of  the  Nibelung —  Nebelland  —  Fogland, 
in  eternal  contrast  to  the  clear  sunny  forms  of 
the  South. 

It  is  my  intention  to  go  hence  to  Paris  in  a 
day  or  two;  my  stay  there  is  undetermined,  but 
will  not  be  long  —  as  I  am  eager  to  get  to  Rome, 
which  feeling  this  English  climate  has  intensi- 
fied. I  hope  you  are  well,  and  that  you  have 
less  work  than  usual.  Write  me,  if  it  be  only 
one  line. 

London,  Jan'y  23d,  1878. 

Your  Shakesperiaii  Excellency  has  doubtless 
heard  of  my  trip  to  Europe,  as  I  visited  your 
correspondents,  friends  of  you  and  me  and  Will- 
iam Shakespeare,  in  Philadelphia.  I  had  a  very 
pleasant  time  there  and  was  loth  to  leave  so 
soon,  for  I  have    a  number  of  acquaintances  in 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  39 

that  city  —  among  them  several  young  hidies. 
You  certainly  will  not  be  astoni.shed  to  hear  such 
a  confession  from  a  lover  of  Shakespeare.  On 
my  return  I  shall  not  fail  to  give  them  a  call  once 
more.  But,  as  you  may  suppose,  these  Phila- 
delphia memories  have  grown  somewhat  dim  in 
the  exciting  novelty  of  this  European  world. 
Everywhere  new  objects  thrust  themselves  be- 
fore the  eye,  new  problems  present  themselves 
to  the  mind.  There  is  the  political  condition,  at 
this  moment  exceedingly  dark,  agitated,  uncer- 
tain. England  to-night  is  suspending  a  balance 
from  Heaven,  like  the  Homeric  Jupiter,  a  balance 
in  which  she  is  weighing  peace  and  war  in  the 
two  scales.  Shall  I  confess  it  —  I  sympathize 
with  the  war  party  —  for  the  question  is  nation- 
ality, which  to  me  is  higher  than  commercial  or 
even  moral  considerations,  though  these  have 
their  weii^ht. 

I  have  seen  none  of  the  en:inent  Shakesperians 
of  England  to  whom  you  were  so  kind  as  to  give 
me  letters,  though  I  have  been  here  nearly  three 
weeks.  I  enjoy  the  luxury  of  absolute  obscurity, 
and  follow  my  own  path  without  molestation. 
Some  of  them  I  would  like  very  much  to  see; 
but  I  hold  back,  from  timidity  I  suppose.  I 
have  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  intruding 
upon  distinguished  people.  I  know  too  well 
how  some  of  them  —  Dickens  and  Macaulay  for 
instance  —  have  spoken  of  visitors  and  especially 


40  LONDON. 

of  American  visitors.  I  shall  try  to  give  no  oc- 
casion for  that  perhaps  just  reproach  of  ill- 
mannered  boldness  so  frequently  cast  upon  our 
countrymen. 

Of  the  fate  of  my  book  [published  the  week  I 
left  the  country]  I  know  absolutely  nothing,  but 
I  have  dreamed  twice  that  the  sale  was  almost 
nothing,  and  that  the  publisher  was  sick  of  the 
enterprise.  Such  was  my  dream,  but  such 
is  also  my  inmost  feeling  about  the  matter.  The 
truth  is  I  ran  away  from  St.  Louis  to  get  rid  of 
the  talk  and  worry  which  were  sure  to  attend 
the  publication.  One  of  my  last  acts  was  to 
order  a  copy  to  be  sent  to  you,  which  I  suppose 
you  have  received. 

I  go  to-morrow  to  Paris  where  I  shall  remain 
a  week  or  two  aud  then  depart  for  Eome,  which 
city  is  the  chief  objective  point  of  my  journey. 
I  came  to  Europe  in  order  to  live  for  a  while  in 
the  Past,  therefore  I  go  to  that  place  which  has 
in  it  the  works  and  the  atmosphere  of  antiquity. 
I  shall  probably  return  to  England  in  the  sum- 
mer. 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  41 

London^  Jan" y  24th,  1878. 

I  intended  to  stiirt  for  Paris  this  morning  but 
I  missed  the  train,  and  must  wait  till  this  eveninjj. 
So  I  returned  to  my  room  and  reviewed  my 
French  in  orc4er  to  be  a  little  more  ready  for  the 
approaching  change  of  speech.  Indeed  I  have 
practiced  French  a  g»od  deal  here  in  London ; 
the  youth  who  makes  my  bed  speaks  it  and  no 
English.  A  stray  waif  he  has  floated  hither 
from  the  Mediterranean,  with  a  little  world  of 
diablery  in  him,  which  rouses  the  ire  of  the 
landlady  and  causes  her  English  tongue  to  slash 
to  pieces  the  French  vocabulary,  and  to  fling  the 
bleeding  fragments  of  it  at  the  head  of  the  boy 
in  a  kind  of  Vesuvian  eruption.  Yesterday  I 
felt  a  little  danger  myself  from  her  red-hot  mis- 
siles, when  I  interceded  for  the  urchin. 

Twenty  days  I  have  passed  in  England,  and  I 
have  filled  them  brimming  full  and  running  over, 
so  that  the  largest  part  of  what  I  have  seen  and 
thought  has  been  s[)illed  into  oblivion  and  lost. 
S^till  quite  a  little  speck  remains  in  memory  and 
ki  writing;  I  feel  somehow  that  I  shall  return 
to  London  for  a  new  dip,  in  spite  of  that  in- 
fernal premonition  which  enveloped  me  on  my 
birthday  in  a  spectral  cloud.  I  shall  again 
salute  you,  my  friend,  from  London;  but  when? 
Let  the  time  stay  in  the  bosom  of  the  Gods,  who 


42  LONDON. 

can    settle  it    among    themselves  —  that    being 
their  business  and  not  mine. 

Do  you  know  that  I  have  been  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  myself  dropping  so  completely  Litera- 
ture and  turning  to  Art*?  Probably  it  is  the 
feeling  that  here  is  the  great  opportunity ;  the 
best  books  you  can  have  anywhere,  but  not  the 
masterpieces  of  Sculpture  and  Painting.  Lon- 
don is,  however,  but  their  prelude,  their  creative 
soul  was  born  elsewhere,  and  that  must  be  the 
final  object  of  appropriation.  It  may  be  said  that 
two  great  National  Arts  have  been  taken  captive  by 
the  English  and  brought  as  prisoners  here  to 
London — Sculpture  and  Painting — the  one  from 
ancient  Greece  and  the  other  from  medieval  Italy. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  begin  to  hear  the  sighs  of  the 
inmates  for  their  homes;  at  least  they  hint  of  a 
very  different  environment  from  their  present 
one  as  the  place  of  their  birth.  A  vague  sym- 
pathy with  these  beautiful  children  of  the  South 
and  of  sunshine  begins  to  make  itself  throb  in 
me  and  to  drive  me  toward  the  place  of  their 
origin.  Still  I  rejoice  to  have  seen  them  here  in 
the  land  of  fog  and  ice  neatly  arrayed  in  their 
two  huge  prisons,  the  National  Gallery  and  the 
British  Museum. 


ipari0. 

Paris,  Jan' 7j  25th,  1878. 

Grand  Hotel  cte  Paris  is  my  present  residence  — 
but  do  not  send  any  letters  hither,  as  I  shall 
soon  be  off  for  Rome.  I  regret  that  I  traveled 
by  nighfeever  the  intervening  land  and  water ;  the 
next  time  I  shall  do  otherwise.  The  passengers 
on  the  boat  from  Dover  to  Calais  were  a  sicker 
set  than  those  on  the  Bothnia  crossing  the  Atlan- 
tic. I  fought  the  battle  out  by  walking  on  deck. 
I  went  down  stairs  once,  but  ran  back  on  seeing 
forty  or  fifty  people  wallowing  about  and  trying 
to  turn  themselves  inside  out.  At  Calais  three 
different  nationalities  were  chucked  into  a  little 
apartment  of  a  railroad  car;  an  Italian  who  might 
have  been  a  Sicilian  bandit  sat  on  one  side  of 
me,  and  a  red-cheeked  English  girl  on  the  other  — 

(43) 


44  PARIS. 

the  Lord  bless  her  for  her  musical  lisp.  We  all 
soon  took  to  snoozing  and  dropping  down  on  one 
another  for  a  moment,  with  quick  recovery  of 
position  after  a  lapse.  Finally  Morpheus  gave 
such  a  strong  potion  to  the  young  lady,  that  she 
could  not  get  hold  of  herself  agam,  but  laid  her 
reclining  head  on  her  neighbor  ^ — you  can  guess 
who  that  was.  Thus  Aurora  brought  our  flying 
train  into  Paris. 

Grarid  Hotel,  Paris,' Jan' y  27,  1878. 

I  write  beneath  brilliant  chandeliers,  holding 
pyramids  of  lighted  candles,  over  and  around 
which  are  hung  clusters  of  glass  prisms  pro- 
ducing all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  Before 
me  is  an  immense  -mirror  extending  from  floor 
to  ceiling  in  a  frame  of  Venetian  glass  which 
curls  and  twists  into  many  shapes,  and  changes 
into  many  hues.  The  walls  are  decorated  with 
reclining  figures  in  gilt  relief  which  run  down  to 
the  panels  in  the  form  of  hanging  festoons.  You 
may  be  sure  that  I  am  somewhat  distracted ;  when 
I  raise  my  head  from  looking  at  this  paper  for 
the  purpose  of  thinking  what  I  shall  tell  you, 
I  can  not  think ;  the  eye  turning  inward  is  al- 
ways violently  jerked  outward  by  the  dazzle,  by 
the  violence  of  external  sensation.  One  inquires 
naturallv,  what  does  all  this  mean,  and  for  whom 
is  it  made?     Concerning  the    former  question  I 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  45 

have  not  fully  uiade  up  my  mind;  coucerning  the 
latter  I  thmk  that  I  know  somewhat  already. 
Take  the  central  figure,  a  woman  of  course.  For 
forty-eight  hours  I  have  noticed  her  —  for  how 
could  I  hel[)  it?  Moreover,  she  may  fitly  be 
called  the  presiding  G(Kldess  of  this  Temple ; 
her  toilet,  her  dress,  but  above  all,  her  carriage 
simply  pull  the  glance  by  main  force.  Look  at 
the  eyes  of  every  man  as  she  crosses  the 
room,  and  there  are  forty  men  here;  if  their 
heads  were  worked  by  a  single  rope  like  so  many 
puppets  the  action  could  not  be  more  similar.  I 
am  no  better  than  the  rest,  she  holds  the  string 
to  my  eyes  also.  A  few  minutes  ago  she  brushed 
up  to  the  desk  where  I  am  sitting  in  order  to  get 
a  newspaper  or  on  some  other  errand  of  course ; 
then  I  was  made  aware  that  I  had  another  sense 
capable  of  delicious  gratification,  for  at  once  I 
thought  myself  enveloped  in  all  the  perfumed 
airs  of  Araby  the  Blest.  When  I  add  that  she 
seems  to  be  alone  here  at  the  Hotel,  I  have  fin- 
ished her  picture. 

But  it  is  already  after  6  o'clock  p.  m. ;  it  is 
time  to  dine.  This  may  be  called  the  chief  di- 
vine service  of  Pans,  and  the  dining  hall  is  con- 
sequently a  worthy  place  of  worship.  As  one 
enters,  a  glow  of  light  confronts  the  eye  and 
makes  one  think  for  a  moment  that  divinity  may 
be  present  in  person,  and  that  mortal  man  can 
not  endure  his  presence.     The  room   is    nearly 


46  PARIS. 

round ;  on  every  side  are  huge  mirrors  so  that  you 
cannot  look  without  seeing  your  other  self  darting 
before  you —  disagreeably  I  say.  But  this  reflec- 
tion of  appearance  is  highly  characteristic,  for 
the  grand  question  here  is,  not  what  am  I?  but 
what  do  I  seem  to  be?  Your  external  form  is 
held  up  before  you  at  every  turn ;  a  mirror  is 
that  silent  servant  who  can  whisper  in  your  ear 
only  one  thing:  How  do  I  look?  Paris  is  the  city 
of  mirrors.  One  lies  down  and  gets  up  before  a 
mirror,  one  drinks  and  eats  before  a  mirror,  one 
seems  to  live  and  die  before  a  mirror.  In  fact 
the  mirror  may  be  taken  as  the  type  of  Parisian 
life,  whose  principle  is  appearance.  The  mirror 
indeed — giving  onlv  the  shadow  of  your  flesh  or 
merely  of  what  the  flesh  has  on,  veritably  the 
appearance  of  an  appearance.  I  often  wonder 
if  these  people  have  at  all  any  looking-glass  of 
the  soul,  but  this  is  as  yet  a  riddle  to  me. 

Since  I  have  been  in  Paris,  my  endeavor  has 
been  directed  mainly  to  one  point:  to  learn 
how  to  eat.  The  humiliating  discovery  I  have 
made  here,  that  this  most  rudimentary  function 
of  animate  existence  I  am  wholly  unversed  in. 
Yesterday  I  sat  next  to  a  gentleman  who  gave 
the  most  exquisite  order  for  his  breakfast ;  I 
really  felt  as  if  I  did  not  want  to  eat  in  his  pres- 
ence and  I  would  have  run  off,  were  not  eating  a 
matter  of  life  and  death.  It  is  quite  as  if  I  had 
been  lodged  on  some  new  planet,  where  I  would 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  47 

have  to  go  through  with  my  infantile  lactation 
and  teeth-cutting  again.  Yes,  I  assure  you,  I 
am  lacking  in  that  supreme  Parisian  accemplish- 
ment — I  don't  know  how  to  dine.  You  ought 
to  see  the  waiters  look  at  me — s«me  with  pity, 
but  all  with  contempt.  They  know  so  much 
more  about  this  subject  that  they  seem  to  think 
and  almost  make  me  believe  that  I  have  no 
right  to  eat  on  account  of  my  ignorance  of  its 
first  principles.  Verily  gastronomy  is  the  chief 
among  sciences  here.  I  have  in  vain  sought  to 
get  the  run  of  its  infinitely  varied  and  finely 
shaded  nomenclature ;  it  is  like  learning  a  new 
language.  I  myself  have  heard  the  Parisian 
test  api)lied  by  a  disgusted  Frenchman  who  sat 
not  far  from  me :  ce  sauvage  ne  salt  diner — that 
savage  does  not  know  how  to  dine. 

But  having  eaten  our  dinner  we  next  go  on 
the  street.  Another  glare — Paris  by  gaslight. 
Not  merely  the  street-lamps  are  lit,  but  every 
store  is  illuminated  with  hundreds  of  flaming 
jets  disposed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  show  the 
articles  in  the  windows .  Then  these  articles  — 
of  every  variet}^  form,  color  and  richness —  why 
try  to  describe  them  to  you?  It  is  of  no  use  to 
attempt  to  make  black  ink  rival  the  eye.  A  line 
of  fairy  palaces  on  each  side  of  the  street,  with 
angels  inside  full  of  grace  and  beauty —  such  is 
the  appearance,  whatsoever  the  reality  may  be. 
On  the  boulevard  is  a  crowd  of  well-dressed  men 


48  PABIS. 


and  women  surging  toward  the  new  Opera 
House  where  is  given  the  grand  masquerade  of 
the  season.  As  my  Hotel  is  just  opposite  to 
the  Opera  House,  there  is  a  good  opportunity  for 
seeing  without  going  far.  Policemen  are  called 
out  to  keep  the  ways  open,  and  to  stem  the 
the  immense  crush  of  people.  Now  here  we  see 
a  new  trait  of  Paris  worthy  of  reflection  — 
what  is  the  logic  of  this  love  of  disguise? 
It  is  a  carnival,  the  whole  population  par- 
ticipating. I  do  not  say  or  think  that  it  is 
wrong,  but  it  is  an  expression  of  the  char- 
acter, of  what  is  within.  The  mask  is  also 
an  appearance,  this  time  a  conscious  putting 
on,  wherein  each  one  says:  I  am  not  what  I 
seem.  The  unconscious  expression  of  the  same 
fact  is  Paris  herself;  the  masquerade  merely 
speaks  out  the  truth. 

Paris,  Feb.  4th,  1878. 

For  the  first  time  in  Europe  I  went  to  the 
theater  in  order  to  see  Victor  Hugo's  Hernani 
which  is  just  now  having  a  great  run  at  the 
Theatre  Frangais.  I  bought  a  copy  and  read 
the  drama  beforehand.  What  strikes  a  person 
chieflj'  is  the  absence  of  motivation ;  the  charac- 
ters rush  in  unexpectedly,  nobody  knows  whence 
or  for  what  reason ;  it  is  clear  that  the  whole 
drama  is  intended  to  produce  effect  by  surprise 


A   TOUli  I.y  EUROPE.  49 

more  than  by  clearly  drawn  motives.  Hence  the 
internal  movement  of  the  incidents  is  very  capri- 
cious according  to  my  notion. 

Like  all  dramas  or  indeed  like  all  artistic  pro- 
ducts in  literature,  it  has  an  ethical  setting  in 
which  it  moves.  It  is  fundamentally  a  conflict  of 
love  —  a  woman  of  high  birth  and  ravishing 
beauty  has  three  lovers :  the  wealthy  but  aged 
Castilian  nobleman,  the  King  Carlos,  afterwards 
Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth,  andllernani,  a  bold 
but  hit2;hb()rn  brijjand,  whom  she  loves  in  return. 
Thus  there  are  two  cases  of  unrequited  love, 
and  in  the  way  of  the  requited  love  is  thrown  both 
a  political  and  domestic  obstacle.  This  frame- 
w®rk,  you  see,  is  nothing  new  or  uncommon; 
the  struggle  between  the  lovers  brings  forth  many 
situations  which  have  also  been  employed  often 
enough  before.  The  gradation  is,  however,  very 
strong — Emperor,  Noble,  Bandit  —  Love  rejects 
the  Emperor  and  prefers  the  Bandit.  So  its 
intensity  is  manifested. 

But  the  destiny  of  the  two  unrequited  lovers 
is  what  makes  the  piece.  Charles  the  king  of 
Spain  undergoes  a  most  wonderful  transforma- 
tion of  character.  He  is  ambitious  of  being 
elected  Emperor  of  German}^  though  hitherto 
he  has  been  chiefly  concerned  in  affairs  of  gal- 
lantry;  his  disposition  is  proud,  tyrannical,  cruel, 
sensual.  But  he  goes  to  Aix-la-Chapelle  where  the 
election  is  to  take  place,  and  there  visits  the  tomb 

1 


50  PARTS. 

of  Charlemagne,  the  greatest  name  in  medieval 
Histor}' ;  in  the  presence  of  the  august  dead  he 
becomes  inspired  with  a  new  purpose  in  life ; 
what  his  purpose  is,  appears  in  the  career  of 
Chalemagne  himself.  To  fulfill  a  grand  political 
destiny,  to  win  the  greatest  name  of  his  age,  to 
be  truly  emperor  of  the  world —  that  is  now  his 
ambition,  excited  at  the  tomb  of  his  great  prede- 
cessor. Hence  the  affairs  of  love  dwindle  to 
nothing  —  he  renounces  the  fair  Dona  and  takes 
the  Empire  for  his  bride.  This  is  the  grand 
transformation  —  from  the  lover  or  rather  from 
the  libertine  into  the  supreme  political  man  of 
his  time.  Such  an  ambition  kindled  by  the  ex- 
ample of  the  heroes  of  the  race,  and  over  their 
very  ashes  —  is  it  not  a  colossal  motive,  and  at 
the  same  time  most  true  and  genuine?  What  do 
you  think  of  it?  I  confess  it  has  made  a  pro- 
found impression  upon  me,  quite  as  much  in  the 
reading  as  in  the  acting.  This  one  thought  will 
in  my  judgment  give  enduring  vitality  to  this 
drama. 

Then  there  is  another  motive  used  with  much 
power.  Love  for  one  woman  conquers  hate  for 
every  body  else.  Hcrnani  is  swollen  with  ven- 
geance against  the  King,  yet  in  the  presence  of 
his  Dona  he  can  never  bring  himself  to  commit 
any  act  of  hatred  even  when  the  King  stands  be- 
fore him.  A  volcano  of  fierce  passions  burns  and 
roars  in  the  soul  of  Hernani,  but  it  is  all  subdued 


A  TOUR  ry  EUROPE.  •*)! 

by  the  gentle  whisper  of  love.  A  most  beautiful 
and  true  motive,  I  think,  yet  not  so  sublime  as 
the  one  before  mentioned  ;  moreover,  it  has  been 
used  with  intense  power  by  Shakespeare  when 
Romeo  after  his  troth-plight  with  Juliet  meets 
the  furious  Tybalt,  the  enemy  of  his  house.  No 
insult  can  induce  him  to  fight  now,  particularly 
with  a  relative  of  his  beloved.  But  Victor  Hugo 
has  generalized  the  motive,  and  wound  it  like  a 
thread  of  light  through  his  entire  drama.  In 
fact  one  might  have  given  more  prominence  to 
this  idea  than  he  has,  for  sometimes  it  seems  to 
grow  a  little  dim  to  my  eye  at  least. 

But  I  have  told  you  nothing  about  the  acting. 
No  doubt  it  was  excellent,  still  hardly  so  good  as 
I  expected;  perhaps  my  idea  was  keyed  up  attoo 
lofty  a  pitch.  The  part  of  Hernani  is  by  an 
actor  who  seems  to  be  much  admired;  for  me  he 
rants  too  much,  though  I  know  myself  to  be 
over-sensitive  on  that  point.  Much  more  satis- 
factory to  me  is  the  old  Noble  who  recites  most 
superbly,  but  this  is  not  acting.  Everywhere 
one  sees  talent,  industry,  care,  training — but 
the  only  spark  of  genius  yet  darted  into  me  came 
from  Sarah  Bernhardt,  who  plays  the  part  of  the 
Dona.  Genius,  you  know,  is  indescribable,  so  I 
shall  not  try  to  swathe  her  in  predicates.  She 
seems  unequal ;  but  iu  her  passages  of  true  revela- 
tion she  brings  her  words  to  the  burning  central 
thought  —  there  it  is,  the  fire  of  genius    which 


52  PAEIS. 

smelts  you  and  the  whole  audience  into  a  glowing 
unity  with  itself.      Her  words  run  through   the 
soul,  not  torturing,  blasting,  cursing  with  their 
presence  —  I  doubt  whether  she  possesses  that 
demonic,  tragic  intensity  which  belonged  appar- 
ently to  Charlotte  Cushman  and  belongs  to  Sal- 
vini — the  sounds  of    her  voice  leave  within  me 
the    impression    of    music  quite    as  much  as  of 
words.     Long    after  I  came  home  and  went  to 
bed  her  sweet  modulations  kept  humming  in  my 
ears  or.  rather  in  my  soul,  and  still  they  rise  up 
like  echoes  in  the  far  distance  while  I  am  writing 
to  you  about  them.     The  impression  was  new  to 
me  in  this  form  ;  the  marriage  of  music  and  of 
la-no-uage    wus    so    perfect  yet    without    cither's 
interfering  with  the  other.     It  was   quite  as  if  I 
had  heard  a  new  Art,  one  that  had  the  distinct- 
ness of  speech  and  all  the  melody  of  music,  a 
new  and  higher  unity  of   the    Drama    and    the 
Opera.     Yet  Bernhardt  is  unequal;  her  acting  is 
like  the  string  of    brilliants    around    her    neck, 
flashing  into  the  eye  of  the  spectator  at  many 
a  turn  and  attitude,  but  sometimes  the    sparkle 
quite  goes  out  into  the  dull  dim  twilight  of  the 
sta<7e.     That  is,  her  impersonation  is  not  a  unity 
culminating  in  one  grand  climax,  but  a  series  of 
exquisitely  rendered   passages.     Her    limits  are 
plainly  seen  at  the  end  of  the  piece,  where  she 
tries  to  be  tragic.     I  cannot  reconcile  myself  to 


A  TOUR  IJSr  EUEOPE.  53 

it  at  all,  her  rapid  speech  becomes  sputter,  her 
violence  turns  to  frenzy. 

Paris,  Feb.  7lh,  1878. 

I  am  trying  to  work  into  the  greatest  French 

literary  character  of  this  century,  Victor  Hugo. 

Yesterday  I  went  to  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale, 

and  read  quite  a  full  account  of  his  life.     He  is 

now    an  old    man  towards  80    (born  in  1802). 

He  is  to  France  what  Goethe  is  to  Germany,    a 

parallel  which    does    not  include    character   but 

designates    their    relative  importance.     A  great 

genius    he  is    in    unquestionably,   who    is   to  be 

studied  long,  carfully  and  under  many  aspects. 

Moreover  a  French  genius    which  Anglo-Saxons 

do  not  understand  as  well  as  German   genius.     I 

feel  in  him  much  that  is  unharmonious  with  my 

nature,  nay  repulsive;  but  no  great  man  is  to  be 

flippantly  dismissed.     So  much  however  I  think 

I  may  say  now:  in  the  bottom  of  his  nature  he  is 

not    institutional.     Hence     comes    the    lack   of 

ballast    which  has  been  often  remarked  both  in 

his  political  career  and  in  his  writings.      Hence 

too  he  is  lyrical  rather  than    dramatic,  and  it  is 

his  just  instinct  which  has  led  him    to  abandon 

the  drama  during  the  latter  half  of  his    literary 

career.     I  am  now  reading  his  Chdtiments,  which 

work  contains  some  of  the  strongest  writing  ever 

produced,  in  my  judgment.      Let  him  be  passed 


64  PAEIS. 

now;  when  I  get  a  better  notion  of  him,  I  shall 
impart  it  to  you  —  for  what  else  have  I  to  write 
about  except  what  I  am  doiug  and  thinking? 

French  political  life  has  had  no  attractions  for 
me  as  yet;  the  petty  parties,  the  petty  intrigues 
and  maneuvres  to  gain  some  petty  point  do  not  en- 
tice me  away  from  the  Louvre,  from  the  Library, 
from  the  Boulevards.  There  is  so  much  here, 
all  beckoning  for  your  attention,  that  you  some- 
times stand  still  in  perplexity  which  way  to 
turn,  and  even  think  of  running  away  from  the 
city  in  order  to  get  rid  of  so  many  importu- 
nate objects.  But  I  shall  try  to  obtain  a  sniff 
of  the  political  atmosphere  before  I  depart  for 
Eome,  which  will  be  in  two  or  three  weeks. 

Eegards  to  Madam  and  the  rest  of  the  family. 

Address   me  at  Rome,  Poste  Restante. 

Paris,  Feb.  10th,  1878. 

My  Dear  Young  Ladies  :  — 

You  see  that  I  have  not  yet  reached  Rome ; 
Paris,  with  its  manifold  attractions  still  holds 
me  back.  I  thought  I  should  have  been  there  a 
month  ago  almost,  but  I  always  think  to  myself, 
what  is  the  use  of  leaving  so  much  behind,  so 
much  that  is  excellent?  So  I  continue  to  tarry, 
and  shall  remain  some  days  yet. 

My  situation  here  is  somewhat  remarkable,  at 
least  I  am  fond  of  thinking  so.     Just  across  the 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE.  55 

street  is  the  famous  Palais  Royal  —  not  a  palace 
iu  which  the  President  of  Fiance  lives,  or  the 
Government  performs  its  functions  — but  a  vast 
collection  of  shops  and  restaurants  with  a  very 
large  inner  court  and  a  lonsj  colonnade  extend- 
ing  round  the  same.  There  one  sees  the  gayety 
of  the  city  in  its  shopping  phase  —  countless 
swarms  of  beautiful  and  finely-dressed  ladies 
throng  the  aisles  in  every  direction  —  one 
asks  involuntarily,  whence  do  they  all  come? 
And  I  always  asked  myself.  Who  gives  them  all 
that  money  to  spend? 

A  few  steps  from  my  lodgings  is  the  colossal 
National  Library,  the  largest  in  the  world,  it  is 
said.     At  10  o'clock  the  doors  of  the  reading 
room  are  opened,  and  just  about  that  time  I  pass 
over  the  street,  turn  a  corner  and  go  in.     There 
I  write  on  a  piece  of  paper  the  book  or  books 
which  I  wish  to  consult,  and  soon  am  lost  till  4 
o'clock  P.  M.,  when  the  doors  are  closed,  and 
everybody  is    politely  invited  to  retire.      But  I 
am    not   so  completely    absorbed  that  I  do  not 
raise    my  .eyes  and  look    around.     Who  is  that 
old,  ragged,  greasy,  blear-eyed  nondescript  sit- 
ting alongside   of   me?     Hi«  first  appearance  is 
repulsive,  but  the  species  is  new,  and  curiosity 
draws  the  glance  more    closely.      A  black-letter 
manuscript  or  book  (as  near  as  I  can  guess)   he 
is  nerusiniT  with  a  ijlow  (»f  deliy-ht   which  makes 
the  dirt  on  his  face  look  like  the  spots  on  the  sun. 


86  PAEIS. 

It  is  the  genuine  bibliophile  or  antiquarian,  a 
species  of  animals  that  worm  and  bore  and  dig 
through  this  vast  library,  finding  therein  suste- 
nance enough.  I  venture  to  say  there  is  no 
such  creature  in  St.  Louis,  at  least  I  never  saw 
any  in  ray  time.  Here  is  a  man  who  abjures 
money,  comfort,  family  (if  he  has  any)  to  bur- 
row in  these  abysses  of  recorded  nothing.  Well, 
let  us  pass  him,  not  without  a  look  of  compas- 
sion, for  the  poor  man,  inveterate  student  all  his 
days,  has  not  yet  learned  the  first  lesson  of  eru- 
dition :  that  all  the  wisdom  of  this  world  is  con- 
tained is  some  half-dozen  well-known  and  easily 
accessible  books,  were  these  only  read  aright. 

Quite  a  different  sort  of  man  is  sitting  just 
opposite  to  me,  he  has  the  long  gown  and  felt  hat 
of  some  religious  order — a  man  sleek  and  oily, 
remarkable  for  his  hanging  dewlap  and  round 
abdomen.  I  used  to  think  that  the  descriptions 
of  monastic  pleasures  were  mainly  fables  dic- 
tated by  religious  bigotry.  But  that  man  over 
there  is  an  argument  which  lives,  indeed  speaks, 
saying :  My  Heaven  —  is  a  good  dinner.  But 
what  is  he  reading?  /Sacred  discourses  of  Mas - 
silon  —  the  lazy  scamp  is  probably  poaching  a 
sermon  instead  of  writing  it  himself.  Such  is 
ray  conjecture,  not  a  charitable  one,  I  confess ; 
say  that  I  am  wrong  and  you  will  not  displease 
me.  — I  know  that  I  am  showing  my  impolite- 
ness, young  ladies,  in  looking  over  the  shoulders 


A   TOUE  IN  EUROPE.  67 

of  pcoi)le  who  are  reading;  but  yonder  is  a 
P'rench  youth,  a  type  of  the  nian  who  will  rule 
France  the  next  generation ;  I  have  noticed  him 
now  for  some  time  —  he  reads  with  a  feverish 
activity,  sometimes  with  spasmodic  jerks  —  page 
after  page  he  turns  over,  indeed  he  does  not 
road,  he  devours.  With  dreamy  swimming  eyes 
he  is  manifestly  floating  through  some  imagin- 
ary world ;  in  his  face  you  can  see  the  sunshine 
and  clouds  passing  over  his  soul  within,  reflect- 
ing the  mighty  spell  of  that  book.  What  can  it 
be?  I  must  see — Jean  Jacques  Rousseau! 
Eternal  wizard  —  when  shall  France  be  free  from 
thy  fascination?  Here  is  a  youth,  you  may 
call  him  a  representative  youth,  whose  life  will 
be  influenced  by  what  he  has  read  to-day;  I 
know  that  the  words  are  burnt  into  his  very 
brain.  The  dream  of  a  return  to  Nature  out  of 
an  artificial  society  —  the  abstraction  which  tears 
up  by  the  roots  all  the  institutions  of  man —  is 
dancing  through  his  young  and  enthusiastic  but 
nebulous  head;  his  dim  belief  is  in  a  universal 
community  of  everything;  I  could  imagine  that 
the  shout  was  already  playing  on  his  lips:  To 
the  Barricades.  To  me  he  is  a  most  lovely  and 
lovable  youth,  so  romantic,  devoted,  ideal;  his 
life  I  know  he  would  give  with  a  toss,  to  realize 
his  principle;  but  just  he  is  the  possibility  of 
French  Kevolutions. 

But  why  write  to  you  about  these  things  which 


58  PABIS. 

yo\x  doubtless  care  little  for?  You  will,  however, 
recollect  that  in  the  rambles  of  our  philosophical 
class  I  often  recurred  to  this  topic,  and  here  on 
the  soil  of  France  I  cannot  help  noting  illustra- 
tions, sometimes  perhaps  fanciful  enough.     In- 
deed   I     have    seen    the    Revolutionary    French 
woman  too ;  I  knew  of  her  existence  before    and 
had  her  picture  in  my  mind,  but  great  is  my  de- 
light to  have  beheld  her  living,  or  rather  gestic- 
ulating; for  her  gestures  were   as  revolutionary 
as  her  language.     Some   evenings  ago  I  went  to 
hear  a  lecture  at   the  Salle    des   Conferences,  a 
hall  where  the  red  spirits  of  Communism  are  re- 
ported to  be  in   the  habit  of  gathering.      At  the 
entrance  I   noticed  a  woman  in    the  center  of  a 
group  of  men  and  ladies;   she  was  engaged  in  a 
very  earnest  tirade  against  the  false  religion,  the 
false   politics,  in  fact,  the  general  falsity  of  the 
acre.      Ah,  thought  I,  Paris  then  has  its  preacher 
too;  enter  ye  in,  for  the  haivest  is  abundant  and 
the   laborers  very  few.     Her    manner    and    her 
countenance  at  once  marked  her  out  as   an  origi- 
nal character ;  so  when  the  doors  were  opened  and 
the  people  entered  the  hall,  I   kept  near  her  all 
the  time,   and  unobserved  took    a   seat   directly 
behind   her.     As   the  lecture  did   not   begin  at 
once,  she  commenced  talking   to  three    or  four 
acquaintances  around  her;    I  could   not  always 
catch  her  meaning,  but  I  understood  enough  to 
know  that  her  own    sex  was  now  undergoing  an 


A  TOUB  m  EUliOPE.  59 

unmcrcifui  flagolliition.  Rut  her  profile  I  saw, 
and  it  Jihiiost  made  lue  cower  with  its  look  of 
fierce  determination ;  jet  it  had  nowithstanding 
much  feminine  grace  which  lured  back  the  eye. 
I  do  not  think  thtit  I  have  ever  witnessed  such  a 
rare  combination :  a  will  red-hot  with  its  pur- 
pose, yet  overflown  with  a  woman's  tenderness  — 
for,  young  ladies,  a  man's  attribute  is  not  ten- 
derness. Likewise  her  thought  had  the  same 
two  extremes:  bloody  savagery  and  an  ideal 
happiness  for  man.  The  lecture  commenced,  but 
I  watched  her  countenance,  reflecting  her  feel- 
ings in  regard  to  what  she  heard  fiom  the  li[)s  of 
the  lecturer  —  what  a  play  of  love  and  of  hate! 
I  would  give  more  to  know  that  woman  than  any 
other  person  that  I  have  seen  in  iwy  travels;  in 
her  one  beholds  thousands,  entire  generations 
with  their  governing  principle.  She  is  indeed  a 
demonic  woman,  of  which  class  I  have  never  seen 
but  one  besides  her  in  my  life;  a  spirit  within  — 
a  demon,  not  a  devil  necessarily  —  controls  them 
with  a  power  far  above  their  natural  selves.  You 
must  not  laugh  at  me,  girls,  and  think  that  it  was 
only  another  case  of  falling  in  love  at  first  si^ht  — 
no,  such  a  being  does  not  excite  love  as  nuioh  as 
terror.  But  she  was  still  a  woman,  and  even 
while  she  was  declaimintj  against  female  vanity, 
I  could  not  help  noting  little  instances  of  her 
own  vanity.  Why,  Madam,  I  would  ask  —  why 
those  diamond  earrings?  or  why  earrings  at  all? 


60  PARIS. 

Or  ^\'hy  that  trick  of  persistently  turning  the  left 
side  of  your  face  toward  those  gentlemen,  some- 
times to  your  own  inconvenience?  I  see  the 
reason  from  where  I  sit  —  you  look  best  seen  at 
that  angle,  a  front  view  of  your  face  shows  the 
sides  to  be  unsymmetrical.  All  of  which  she 
nm>;t  have  been  conscious  of — yet  listen  to  her 
homily  on  vanity  !  But  she  i^  the  greatest  char- 
acter I  have  yet  come  upon  in  Europe. 

I  believe  that  I  have  already  told  you  that  the 
chief  attri})ute  of  a  good  traveler  was,  in  my 
opinion,  susceptibility.  He  ought  to  convert 
himself  into  a  photographic  apparatus  just  as  big 
as  his  soul  will  aUow,  in  order  to  take  impres- 
sions of  objects.  A  true  image  of  what  he  sees 
is  the  Golden  Fleece  of  every  grand  voyage;  let 
the  traveler  return  with  that,  and  his  reward 
will  be  somewhat.  Let  him  not  cloud  his  per- 
ceptiwns  with  his  own  whims  or  systems  ;  let  him 
make  his  mind  the  clearest  mirror,  unstained 
with  even  his  own  breath.  So  1  try  to  act  and 
to  feel,  moving  among  these  strange  shapes  in 
a  strange  world.  Having  tried  to  show  you  the 
impression  xunde  by  certain  characters,  let  me 
pass  to  Art. 

But  here  the  subject  becomes  unmanageable, 
the  quantity  of  Art  in  Paris  is  enormous  — 
the  Louvre  alone,  in  which  I  have  spent  about 
half  of  my  time,  contains  enough  to  occupy  me 
the  rest  of   my  days.     But  let  me  try  to  impart 


A   TOUIi  IN  EUROPE.  fil 

to  you  my  Iti.st  impression.  Only  a  few  hours 
ago  I  returned  from  my  third  visit  to  Notre 
Dame,  the  celebrated  Cathedral,  and  still  the 
music  of  its  proportions  is  singing  through  me. 
How  impossible  it  is  to  convey  by  words  what  is 
revealed  in  these  great  works !  Language  is  one 
expression.  Art  is  another  totally  different; 
neither  can  take  the  place  of  the  other.  To 
cram  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  into  catego- 
ries—  it  is  an  impossibility;  the  structure  must 
be  seen  and  communed  with  long  and  deeply,  be- 
f©re  it  will  impart  its  secret.  I  lounged  several 
hours  in  front  of  it,  lookinor  at  its  glorious 
facade  —  truly  the  face,  the  outer  expression  of 
the  Church.  The  mind  is  at  first  dazed  by  the 
sight — overwhelmed  in  two  directions,  by  the 
Great  and  the  Small.  The  massiveness  of  every 
thing  first  smites  you;  then  the  eye  naturally 
begins  to  analj^ze,  proceeding  to  the  parts;  what 
an  infinite  wealth  of  details  !  Confining  the  look 
to  a  small  fragment,  you  would  sav  that  it  has 
the  finish  of  a  miniature,  so  many  are  the  little 
castles,  niches,  turrets,  pieces  of  fretted  work, 
sculptured  •rnaments.  Yet  the  whole  creates  no 
confusion,  no  feeling  of  constraint  or  pettiness; 
on  the  contrary  these  ornaments  are  thrown  into 
grand  masses  which  produce  the  effect  of  sub- 
lime magnitude.  Such  is  the  double  impres- 
sion—  that  of  the  Great  and  of  the  Small  —  of 
massive  grandeur  on  the  one  hand  and  of  almost 


62  PARIS. 

microscopic  ornament  on  the  other.  When  you 
have  gazed  on  that  glorious  church-face  for  a  long 
time,  it  begins  to  have  a  voice  and  speaks  or  rather 
sings  in  a  strain  which  grows  more  and  more  intel- 
ligible, though  not  utterable  in  words  ;  its  chant 
accords  best  with  the  grand  swell  of  the  organ  in- 
side of  the  structure.  Now  what  is  the  secret  of 
this  glorious  harmony  ? — for  the  rationale  of  it  m-iy 
be  expressed  in  language,  though  not  the  work 
itself.  The  eye  will  after  awhile  come  upon  the 
fundamental  type  or  form  —  the  key-note  of  the 
composition ;  this  type  will  be  seen  everywhere 
repeated  in  the  Great  and  the  Small,  with  many 
variations  to  be  sure,  for  it  must  transform  itself 
according  to  the  situation  and  requirements. 
Now  it  is  a  door,  now  a  window,  now  an  arched 
support,  now  a  little  trefoil;  always  adjusting 
itself  to  the  immediate  demand,  it  is  still  in  the 
deepest  harmony  with  the  whole  edifice.  Such 
is  this  fundamental  type,  the  creative  idea  it  may 
be  called;  it  is  as  it  were  reflected  in  thousands 
of  mirrors,  very  large  and  very  small,  but  always 
showing  the  same  face.  Let  now  the  eye  tra- 
verse the  building;  everywhere,  even  in  the 
minutest  part  it  beholds  that  which  carries  it  up- 
ward to  the  Whole,  to  the  Infinite  indeed.  The 
colossal  Cathedral  thus,  on  the  other  hand,  seems 
to  spring  into  myriads  of  crystallized  shapes;  as 
the  body  of  water  shoots  into  crystals  of  ice,  re- 
peating   themselves  indefinitely    in   the  greatest 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  63 

and  in  the  least  forms.  The  contemplation  of 
such  a  pile  reared  of  harmonious  stone  is  a  new 
experience ;  when  those  proi)ortions  once  reach 
down  into  the  soul,  it  starts  into  a  sort  of  rhyth- 
mic movement  with  tlrcm  which  lasts  long  after 
the  buildinor  is  out  of  si^ht.  Doubtless  it  is  a 
preparation  for  the  worship  of  the  Divine  Archi- 
tect whose  abode  is  here  within  —  but  to-day  I 
cannot  conduct  you  into  the  inside  of  the  church, 
for  I  see  that  three  sheets  of  paper  is  about  cov- 
ered with  my  scrawlings,  and  I  judge  that  you  all 
are  in  no  very  pious  frame  of  mind  at  this  long 
letter.  Some  other  time  we  may  walk  down 
the  aisles  of  Notre  Dame,  and  in  the  meanwhile, 
my  dear  young  ladies,  I  remain,  yours,  etc, 

Paris,  Feb.  13th,  1878. 

For  two  or  three  days  I  had  been  thinking  of 
sending  some  answer  to  your  friendly  letter, 
when  last  night  I  received  a  copy  of  the  St. 
Louis  Rtpuhlican  ivoiwyowv  present  residence. 
I  am  much  obligedtoyou  for  this  pleasant  token, it 
has  the  face  of  an  old  familiar  acquaintance  ivmn 
whom  one  has  been  long  separated.  It  seems  as 
if  an  age  had  passed  since  I  set  out  from  St. 
Louis,  but  it  is  not  yet  two  months.  So  much  has 
been  seen  and  experienced  by  me  in  that  short 
time  that  it  a})pears  to  span  quite  a  large  seg- 
ment of  my  whole  life.     I    read  the    newspaper 


64  PARIS. 

through  with  great  delisbt,  not  so  much  for 
what  it  contained  as  for  what  it  recalled.  The 
dear  old  city  came  back  to  me  with  its  well- 
known  faces  and  localities ;  indeed,  I  was  trans- 
ported in  thought  to  its  thoroughfares  where 
once  more  I  met  and  shook  hands  with  old 
friends.  I  must  confess  that  its  perusal  gave 
me  a  slight  touch  of  home-sickness  —  the  first 
yet  felt,  though  I  frequently  feel  an  intense  long- 
ing to  seethe  little  girl.  But  I  rallied  quickly  from 
my  emotions,  for  I  had  taken  a  ticket  for  the 
Theatre  Frangais,  where  the  Misanthrojye  of 
Moliere  was  going  to  be  played,  and  it  was  high 
time  to  be  off. 

The  truth  is,  I  do  not  descend  enough  into  my 
thoughts  and  feelings  now,  the  weight  of  the  ex- 
ternal  world  is  so  great  and  intense  that  it  keeps 
one's  senses  occupied  all  the  time.  At  most  the 
superficial  memory  is  taxed,  for  I  and  probably 
many  people  undertake  to  accomplish  too  much ; 
everything  interesting  must  be  seen  and  read 
about.  Thus,  however,  there  result  only  cram- 
ming and  confusion,  wherein  nothing,  however 
beautiful  or  noble,  sinks  down  into  the  soul.  Yet 
I  am  no  very  great  sinner  in  this  respect,  for  I 
always  try  in  the  evening  to  think  and  feel  about 
what  I  have  seen  during  the  day.  The  difiiculty 
is,  one  truly  great  work  of  Art  offers  so  many 
points  of  view  that  we  never  get  done  think- 
ing about  it.     My  opinion  is  that  a  good  trav- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  65 

eler  ought  to  go  to  his  room  and  remain  there 
at  least  half  of  his  time  in  order  to  think  over 
and  write  into  shape  what  he  has  seen.  A  man 
who  looks  all  the  while  sees  nothing.  He  must 
let,  indeed  must  make  the  object  descend  into 
himself  and  become  a  part  of  himself.  So  I  try 
to  knead  over  the  raw  material  which  enters  the 
eye;  for  even  the  finest  work  is  merely  a  crude 
mass  until  its  creative  idea  be  attained.  I  do 
not  know  why  I  am  telling  you  all  this  except  to 
inform  you  that  I  occupy  myself  very  busily 
about  two  things :  to  see  and  to  reflect  upon 
what  I  see. 

When  I  shall  set  out  for  Rome,  I  do  not  know 
yet  —  probablv,  in  one  or  two  weeks  hence.  In 
traveling  I  put  myself  into  the  hands  of  Provi_ 
dence,  or  rather  of  my  own  guiding  angel  when 
he  whispers  in  my  ear:  "  Up,  it  is  time  to  go." 
I  follow  the  friendly  hint  with  unswerving  trust. 
I  make  no  definite  plan,  but  only  the  vague  out- 
line of  a  plan  which  must  be  filled  up  in  its  de- 
tails by  the  above-mentioned  spirit.  I  have 
enough  to  keep  me  here  some  days  yet  —  I  mean 
things  partially  done  which  ought  not  to  be 
left  unfinished.  Still  I  feel  very  eager  to  be  on 
my  way,  as  the  winter  will  soon  be  at  an  end. 
As  my  main  object  in  this  European  visit  is  to 
see  Art,  I  doubtless  ouijht  to  reiich  its  center 
as  soon  as  possible,  which  is,  of  course,  Rome. 
Besides,  I  begin  to  feel  a  strong  desire  to   hear 

5 


66  PARIS. 

something  from  home,  not  having  received  any 
news  since  my  departure. 

I  do  not  think  it  possible  now  for  me  to  ac- 
cept your  kind  invitation  to  come  and  stay  with 
you  a  little  while  in  Germany.  Nothing,  you  must 
know,  would  give  me  greater  pleasure;  but,  dear 
friend,  Art  is  long.  Life  is  short.  If  I  was  cer- 
tain of  having  a  full  year  before  me  for  seeing 
Ital}^  I  might  pay  you  a  visit;  as  the  matter 
stands,  I  have  to  be  industrious,  else  not  even 
my  skin  will  be  w^et  through  by  tlie  holy  water 
of  Art,  I  wish  indeed  a  transformation,  a  re- 
generation, if  possible;  but  this  can  only  come 
through  time  and  labor.  Later  I  may  take  a 
little  tour  in  your  northern  fogland  so  belabored 
by  Goethe. 

The  best  works  of  Art  in  Paris  I  feel  that  I 
have  seen,  though  by  no  means  digested;  I  have 
merely  taken  a  long  sweet  first  draught,  which 
has  quenched  my  thirst  here  for  the  time  being. 
In  Architecture  Notre  Dame  gives  the  highest 
delight,  more  intense  interest  than  any  other 
edifice  I  have  yet  seen.  The  Madeleine  too  rises 
up  very  majestically,  yet  lightly,  and  I  shwuid 
judge,  gives  a  good  idea  of  the  form  and  signifi- 
cance of  the  ancient  Greek  temple.  Many  other 
churches  have  been  visited  l)y  me,  yet  not  often 
and  long  enough  fully  to  reach  down  into  their 
thought.  The  Pantheon  for  instance  I  have  m(  ii 
but  once  and  then  on  a  cold  day   wlicii  all  cuj(j- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  67 

tion  WHS  chilled  into  iiiuubness — still  the  ini{)re.s- 
siou  left  on  ni}'  mind  is  one  of  grandeur.  The 
Louvre  too  I  like  to  wiilk  around  and  see  how  the 
architects,  centuries  apart,  struggled  to  make  a 
harmwnious  building  and  to  a  large  extent  suc- 
ceeded. Perhaps  the  structure  which  most  dis- 
appoints the  stranger  in  Paris  is  the  new  Opera 
House — I  mean  in  its  exterior  appearance. 
Like  the  Second  Empire  under  which  it  origi- 
nated, it  is  a  gorgeous  failure. 

In  Sculpture  the  Louvre  is  a  huge  rich  casket 
containing  many  of  the  most  precious  gems  of 
the  earth.  As  I  walked  along  the  halls  of 
statuary  arranged  in  rows  through  which  the 
spectator  passes,  I  saw  many  an  old  friend  whose 
picture  had  long  been  known  to  me.  I  felt  on 
terms  of  intimacy  at  once,  and  without  further 
introduction  proceeded  to  hold  converse  with  the 
original  shapes  whose  images  I  had  before  seen 
only  in  a  dream,  as  it  were.  Yet  even  they  were 
shy  at  first  of  telling  their  secret,  and  long  I  sat 
before  some  of  them,  seeking  to  get  an  answer 
to  mv  questions.  They  did  speak  to  me,  but  it 
is  very  hard  for  me  to  impart  what  they  said  — 
indeed  it  cannot  be  expressed  in  speech  but  only 
in  sculpture.  One  thing  has  been  seared  upon 
my  brain  in  these  visits  and  communings  with 
great  works:  Art  is  one  form  of  expression, 
lauauaiie  another,  and  the  two  forms  are  not  in- 
terchangeable.     Sometime  I    may    try    to    hint 


68  PAHIS. 

to  you  from  ;ifar  what  the  fair  Venus  of  Milo 
whispered  in  my  ear. 

Paris,  Feb.  14tJi,  1878. 

The  quantity  of  Painting  gathered  in  the  Louvre 
is  absokitely  oppressive.  Sometimes  I  doubt 
whether  tliese  immense  collections  of  works  of 
Art  constitute  the  best  way  of  making  them 
produce  their  true  impression.  Would  it  not  be 
better  to  scatter  them  in  the  churches  and  public 
buildings  through  the  city,  so  that  the  eye  and 
mind  would  be  compelled  to  rest  on  one  great 
picture  or  on  one  class  of  pictures?  People 
would  be  far  more  likely  to  remain  in  one  place 
till  they  get  at  least  an  impression.  But  as  the 
matter  stands  at  present,  they  run  through  the 
o-alleries  of  the  Louvre  in  a  few  hours ;  the  most 
diverse  schools,  styles  and  subjects  pass  before 
their  view;  no  human  being,  not  even  a  God  can 
compass  them,  and  bring  order  into  such  vast 
materials  in  so  short  a  time.  I  plead  guilty  to 
my  own  indictment,  to  a  certain  extent  at  least, 
for  I  have  lost  precious  hours  in  the  attempt  to 
see  too  much. 

But  both  London  and  Paris  are  in  all  that  con- 
cerns Art  only  a  foretaste  of  the  South.  You 
look  into  the  catalogues,  you  read  the  history  of 
what  you  arc  studying,  you  examine  the  subject 
of    the    work  —  everything    points    directly    to 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  Q'-i 

Italy,  and  more  remotely  to  Greece.  You  ask 
of  these  fair  forms,  where  were  you  born?  where 
reared?  The  answer  comes  in  a  thousand  voices, 
"  not  here,  not  here,  but  amid  the  sunny  climes 
of  the  Mediteranean."  Sometimes  I  imagine 
that  the  statues  have  a  look  of  sadness  in  this 
Northern  twilight,  as  they  stand  there  showing 
unmistakable  signs  of  a  homeless  exile.  Why 
does  that  Venus  unrobe  herself  to  this  wintry 
air?  One  thinks  that  she  must  shiver  and  com- 
plain of  her  hard  destiny.  The  lady  who,  dressed 
in  warm  furs,  stops  and  stares  at  her,  is  the 
Northern  Venus,  and  with  true  instinct  partly 
pities  and  partly  is  ashamed  of  the  nudity  of  her 
sister.  So  too  with  the  Italian  paintings,  torn 
from  their  surroundings,  from  their  worshippers, 
to  be  gazed  at  merely  for  theii'  beauty.  One 
asks,  what  mean  ye  here  tumbled  amid  this 
chaos  of  canvas?  Every  figure,  I  may  truly  say, 
points  to  Rome  as  its  home,  and  the  home  of 
Art.  Daliin,  daliin  O^mein  GeliebtermocJif  Ich 
Ziehen.  Regards  to  Madame,  to  whom  I  intended 
to  write  a  German  versicle,but  the  paper  has  run 
out,  you  see. 


70  PABIS. 


Paris,  Feb.  15th,  1878. 

It  is  now  about  three  weeks  since  I  left  Lon- 
don, which  time  I  have  put  in  very  industriously, 
if  not  very  profitably.  I  try  to  see  all  that  is 
most  worth  seeing,  which  is  much  more  than  one 
ought  to  undertake.  My  great  dissipation  is  in 
sight;  I  indulge  in  a  perfect  debauch  of  vision. 
I  mean  to  say,  that  the  eye  is  the  only  one  of 
the  senses  to  which  I  give  loose  rein;  whatever 
experience  is  derived  from  seeing,  I  intend  to 
have  it.  The  other  kinds  of  debauchery  of 
which  Paris  is  full  have  no  attractions  for  me ;  I 
am  on  a  spree,  not  of  appetite,  but  of  vision.  So 
I  look  at  everybody  and  everything. 

I  did  indulge  in  some  expensive  living  when  I 
first  came,  but  I  have  quit  after  being  fully 
satiated.  I  paid  for  a  dinner  the  highest  price  I 
ever  gave,  just  to  find  out  what  a  Parisian  din- 
ner was.  Now  I  have  settled  down  to  my  old 
homely  fare,  and  feel  perfectly  contented.  I 
have  not  quite  learned  to  order  my  meals  yet  — 
this  is  the  hardest  part  of  the  French  language. 
To-day  for  the  third  dish,  I  ordered  some  roast 
beef,  and  the  waiter  brought  a  plate  of  beans. 
Of  course  I  ate  them  down  as  if  they  were  just 
the  thing  I  called  for.  Any  explanation  would 
only  have  involved  me  more  deeply  in  the  laby- 
rinthine nomenclature  of  this  French  cookery.     I 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  71 

take  my  meals  at  the  Restaurant  when  I  want 
them,  but  I  see  many  other  articles  of  diet  ex- 
posed for  sale,  and  curiosity  often  prompts  me 
to  buy  them  and  find  out  what  they  taste  like. 
So  I  cairy  them  to  my  room  and  there  devour 
them,  frequently  making  out  a  full  meal  in  that 
way. 

In  fact  one  can  buy  every  kind  of  meat  al- 
ready cooked  in  nearly  every  style  and  exhil^ited 
in  the  show  windows  of  the  busiest  thorough- 
fare. What  a  variety  of  meat-pies!  Then  at 
the  baker's  shop  are  things  undreamed  of  in  our 
western  world.  I  see  the  name  and  price  on  the 
article,  go  in  and  ask  for  it,  then  walk  off  to  my 
quarters.  Several  times  I  have  been  sold,  not 
being  able  to  finish  the  enterprise.  I  bought 
some  time  ago  a  species  of  fish  cured  in  oil, 
thinking  of  my  beloved  sardines  —  but  not  only 
did  they  at  last  refuse  to  be  eaten,  but  some  threat- 
ened to  return  to  daylight  after  having  been 
swallowed.  Strange  fruits,  too,  from  the  Orient 
and  Africa  are  objects  which  I  like  to  look  upon 
in  the  show-window,  before  whicii  I  usually  stop 
and  gaze  often  amid  a  troop  of  children  and  ser- 
vant-girls. A  dav  or  two  ago  I  came  across  a 
man  who  was  selling  some  fruits  in  a  cart;  I 
stopped  him  and  purchased  of  those  unknown  to 
me.  One  kind  from  Africa  he  particularly 
recommended,  "excellent,  and  for  the  stomach." 
I  ate  of  them  freely  and  I  assure  you  that  they 


72  PARIS. 

did  start  a  radical  movement  and  renovation,  I 
suppose,  in  the  stomach.  So  always  one  has  to 
pay  his  tuition  for  whatever  kind  of  knowledge 
he  acquires. 

I  so  every  day  to  a  Restaurant  where,  besides 
o-ettincr    a  good  economical  dinner,  I  see  a  little 
o-irl  who  recalls   the  one  I  left   at   home.     The 
little  thing  is  full  of  liveliness,  and  chatters  from 
a  full  heart    in  a  sort  of  bird  song.     When  she 
talks  to  her    papa   in    a  steady  flow  of  infantile 
prattle,  it  seems  as  if  I  understood  her  meaning 
perfectly,  though  I  do  not  catch  the  half  or  quar- 
ter  of  her    babbling  words.     Her  features  and 
tones   bring   back   to   me  many  a  little  memory 
which    is  not   always  sighless.     No  mother  has 
yet  appeared,  I  take  it  that  the  two  are  alone  in 
the  world,    for   the  father  seems    at   times  de-- 
jected  and  dotes  with  the  strongest  affection  on 
the    child,  receiving  much  solace  from  its  prat- 
tlincrs.     Poor    little    girl!     What  monsters  lurk 
along  thy  path  through  this  world  —  the  thought 
must  make  thy  father's  heart  quake  with  terror. 
The    cold    of   winter    here,    though    not  very 
great,  seems  very  penetrating.     But  the  means 
for    warming  rooms  is    not  sufficient  unless  one 
goes   to    a   great  expense.     Wood  is  burnt  in  a 
fire-place,  quite  after  the  old  fashion;   but  it  is 
very  dear,    and    the  fire-place  is  small;   on  cold 
days  I    shiver  over  my  little  blaze  in  a  most  un- 
comfortable manner.     As  a  last  resort  I  go  to  the 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  73 

library,    which,  however,  is  not  well  heated,  ex- 
cept near  the  registers. 

I  have  heard  nothing  yet  from  America  though 
it  is  time  for  letters  to  have  arrived.  I  have  had 
them  all  directed  to  Rome.  I  am  acquainted 
with  nobody  here  and  have  not  met  a  soul  whom 
I  ever  knew.  I  could  probably  find  some  St. 
Louis  peo[)le  if  I  were  to  search,  but  I  have  not 
even  registered  my  name  at  the  American  em- 
bassy. I  know  some  people  who  came  over  with 
me  on  the  Bothnia,  but  these  I  avoid,  for  my 
hands  are  now  overflowing  with  what  I  have 
undertaken.  When  I  get  very  weary,  I  buy 
some  trifle  and  take  the  opportunity  of  talking 
with  the  shop  girl,  whereby  many  a  little  gleam 
■  of  human  nature  makes  its  appearance.  I  am 
perfectly  contented  with  my  isolation ;  when  I 
shall  have  finished  my  programme,  which  how- 
ever is  not  very   definite,  I  shall  again  pack  and 

There  is  a  freedom  in  the  customs  here  which 
requires  some  time  to  get  used  to.  Particularly 
as  regards  Art,  the  public  taste  is  very  liberal,  if 
not  more  than  liberal.  You  know  that  the  An- 
tique for  the  most  part  is  undraped;  the  statues 
of  men  stand  around  in  the  Louvre  in  all  their 
nudity  and  by  the  hundreds.  I  confess  I  was  a 
little  put  back  when  I  saw  women  and  particu- 
larly young  ladies,  in  the  company  of  young  gen- 
tlemen, go  up  and  examine  all  the  naked  details, 


74  PABI8. 

(hands  off  of  course).  I  cannot  help  watching 
in  a  sly  way  the  actions  of  different  women  in 
such  a  situation.  Some,  it  is  true,  refuse  to  look 
at  all,  some  pass  by  with  a  blank  gaze,  a  few 
show  color,  others  titter  a  little  —  but  the  most 
take  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course.  But  to-day  I 
felt  outraged  when  I  saw  a  fine  looking,  well 
dressed  man  conducting  his  two  little  girls 
through  the  galleries  of  sculpture,  and  standing 
quite  a  while  before  a  nude  Ai)ollo.  He  was  tell- 
ing them  evidently  the  mythological  story  and 
intending  to  instruct  them,  but  even  my  love  of 
Art  cannot  yet  reconcile  me  to  such  an  act.  I 
cannot  but  think  that  sexual  passion  needs  not 
to  be  put  into  a  hot  house,  it  will  develop  soon 
enough  and  with  sufficient  intensity.  Hence 
come  some  of  the  recruits  for  the  120,000  prosti- 
tutes who  are  said  to  be  in  Paris.  A  good 
story  is  told  of  some  distinguished  Parisian  lady  so 
noted  for  her  beautiful  form  that  she  was  asked 
and  consented  to  sit  naked  as  a  model  for  a 
sculptor.  On  telling  her  experience  to  an  English 
woman,  the  latter  exclaimed:  "  Why,  how  could 
you  stand  it  there?  "  She  replied  most  naively, 
"  It  was  not  cold  in  the  room." 

Well,  this  is  Art,  you  say,  but  the  sarce  free- 
dom reappears  in  public  manners.  Going  down 
to  my  landlady's  sitting-room  the  other  morning 
to  make  some  inciuiry,  I  there  found  a  gentle- 
man, one  of    her  tenants,  in  his    night-clothes. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  75 

who  also  was  on  a  siniilar  errand.  That's  the 
difference.  The  matter  wouhl  have  been  suspic- 
ious, had  not  the  whole  family,  including  hus- 
band, been  present,  and  evidently  accustomed  to 
such  displays  on  the  part  of  their  lodgers.  In 
open  public  are  the  urinal  stands,  some  of  which 
have  not  even  an  upright  board  to  hide  the 
functions  of  Nature,  so  important,  yet  de- 
manding some  little  mystery  in  their  Anglo- 
Saxon  performance  at  least.  Not  in  an  alley, 
but  rifflit  on  the  street,  the  urine  runs  off  into  the 
gutter,  while  women  pass  by  on  the  })avement 
close  euouirh  to  brush  ao;ainst  the  men.  I  do 
not  say  that  all  are  so  open,  but  some  arc,  for  I 
have  seen  what  I  tell  you  with  my  own  eyes. 
But  I  am  suri)rised  at  the  social  and  moral 
change  in  crossing  the  English  channel. 

By  the  time  this  letter  reaches  you,  the  last 
winter  sun  will  have  sunk  beneath  the  horizon, 
and  the  new  spring  have  entered  upon  its  joyful 
course.  May  it  bring  to  your  old  age  itself  — 
anew  spring  which  will  rejuvenate  you  in  every 
pore.  My  })rophetic  soul  seems  to  behold  you  at 
this  distance  in  a  vision,  and  moreover  tells  me 
that  I  shall  see  your  face  again — nay  that  an- 
other gay  trip  to  some  watering  place  is  before 
us  like  our  last  summer's  journey  to  old  Mary- 
land. But  let  not  Hope  fly  too  far  before  and 
pluck  the  fruit  ere  it  be  ripe.  I  still  have  great 
tracts  of  space  to  tsaverse,  in  which  1    nuiy  dis- 


76  PARIS. 

appear,  and  you  have  climbed  up  the  mountain 
of  life  to  the  dizzy  apex  of  threescore  and  ten 
nearly,  where  you  stand  perched  on  a  needle's 
point,  as  it  were  —  liable  at  any  moment  to 
swing  off  into  the  abyss.  Believe  me,  I  often 
think  of  you  and  the  other  ones  with  you,  to  all 
of  whom  give  my  love  and  tell  me  about  them 
in  your  reply. 

Paris,  Feb.  16th,  1878. 

Literature  has  again  taken  hold  of  me 
strongly,  and  I  am  reading  more  French 
books  than  I  ever  read  in  my  life  before.  The 
great  Library  offers  a  good  opportunity.  Then 
the  best  works  of  the  language  are  found  in 
little  shops  everywhere  at  prices  astonishingly 
cheap  with  paper  covers.  In  the  main  I  read 
them  without  difficulty,  though  now  and  then  I 
am  puzzled  by  a  word  which  sends  me  to  the 
dictionary,  and  this,  quite  a  good-sized  one,  I 
have  bought.  My  room  begins  to  look  like  that 
of  a  student.  Of  course  I  cannot  take  all  this 
printed  luggage  with  me,  so  I  have  made  ar- 
rangements with  my  landlady  to  keep  these 
books  for  me  till  I  return,  for  return  I  must  to 
Paris  and  take  another  look  into  this  French 
world  ere  I  start  on  the  final  trip  homeward 
across  the  Atlantic. 

In  spite  of  all  my  efforts  there  is  still  some- 
thing alien  to  me  in  French  Literature,  and  so 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE. 


11 


in 


French     spirit.     There    always    was.     I  pe- 
rused   (lilii'entlv    at    home  the    masterpieces    of 
the  chissical  period,  those  of  Corneille  and  Ka- 
cine;  some  of    thcin  I  studied  with  great  care 
and  even  taught  in  the  High  School,  but  to  the 
hist  I  felt  that  their  soul  stayed  outside  of  mine. 
The  French  elaboration  of  the  Greek  tragic  drama 
affected  me  somewhat  like  a  travesty.     That  line 
of  French-Greek  characters  strung  through  hun- 
dreds of  plays — Achille,  Ulysse,  Alceste,  Iphi- 
genie,  Phedre,  Medea  and  the  rest — seem  to  me 
to  be  danced  about  like  puppets  through  centu- 
ries of  the  French  drama.     I  tell  you  this  not 
by  way  of    criticism  but  to  show  you  my    own 
literary  limitation  which  I  am  trying  to   under- 
stand and  to  overcome.     The  fault  is  mine.     It 
is  not  for  me  toss  to   one  side  in    contempt   a 
form  of  Literature  in  which  not  only  France  ex- 
pressed itself  for  generations,  but    all    Europe, 
Teutonic  as  well  as  Latin.     Hence  I  go  to  every 
specimen  of  the  old  French  classic  drama   pre- 
sented on  the  stage,  reading  the   piece  before- 
hand and  then  looking    it   over    afterwards,    as 
well  as  studying  the  audience  during  the  repre- 
sentation.    Still   I  have  to  confess  that  I  have 
not  yet  gotten  into  that  inner  spontaneous  flow 
of  sympathy  with  it  which  a  great  national  Lit- 
erature ought  to  tap  at  the  fountain  head. 

One  of  these  classics,  Molierc,  I  enjoy ;  that 
is,  I  get  into  the    comedy    of    the    old  French 


78  PARIS. 

spirit  better  than  into  the  trao^edy.  I  have 
for  this  dug  out  a  reason  which  holds  good 
with  me  if  witli  no  one  else :  that  old  French 
tragedy  is  at  bottom  comic,  self-undoing,  ab- 
surd, and  it  is  Molicre,  who  really,  even  if  un- 
consciously, turns  the  thing  inside  out  with  a 
laugh.  For  instance,  Racine's  IpJiigenia  at 
AuHs  is  to  my  mind  more  ludicrous  than  lacry- 
mose ;  to  me  at  least  it  furnished  delicious  mor- 
sels for  the  scoffing  demon  at  a  recent  readinsf. 
I  fancy  Moliere  going  around  and  tearing  off 
masks,  for  that  world  of  Louis  XIV  was  a 
masked  world.  Look  at  him  unmasking  the  reli- 
gious  hypocrite  in  TartuffCy  which  I  have  just 
seen.  Tragedy  itself  became  a  brilliant  masque- 
rade at  that  time,  and  the  comic  poet  strips  it  of 
its  disguise  for  the  amusement  of  the  masquers 
themselves. 

Undoubtedly  France  is  and  has  been  for  some 
time  in  a  reaction  against  its  classical  drama  so- 
called.  This  is  one  reason,  probably  the  main 
reason  why  Victor  Hugo  is  such  a  favorite  at 
present.  For  he  dominates  here  the  literary  and 
theatrical  world.  His  pieces,  though  no  longer 
new,  draw  better  than  any  others  and  produce  a 
stronger  impression,  as  I  have  watched  the 
audiences  at  the  Theatre  Fran^ais.  Perhaps  too, 
this  reaction  may  account  for  my  present  inclin- 
ation for  Hugo,  who  is  the  greatest  personality 
in  cotemporary  French  Literature.      Still  I  run 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  79 

against  his  limits)  on  niiiny  sides,  he  is  uoL  of  the 
very  greatest.     But  enough  for  once. 

Paris,  Feb.  19,  1878. 

I  have  been  intending  for  a  long  time  to  write 
a  letter  to  you,  but  something  has  always  inter- 
fered in  an  antagonistic  way.  I  am  busy,  quite 
busy,  and  often  wish  that  the  hours  of  the  day 
were  doubled  in  order  to  finish  the  work  laid 
out.  Two  things  I  have  to  be  doing,  if  I  am  to 
derive  any  benefit  from  my  journey :  to  see  and 
to  think;  for  seeing  without  thinkiuor  is  a  wild 
sensuous  phantasmagory,  and  thinking  without 
seeing  is  baseless  speculation.  The  twain  must 
be  wedded,  if  there  be  any  worthy  fruit  of 
travel.  But  both  take  time  and  are  exhausting; 
thus  the  day  always  ends  without  the  task  be- 
ing done. 

I  have  made  no  acquaintances  here  and  avoid 
making  any ;  no  person  can  find  me,  if  there 
should  happen  to  be  a  human  being  in  the  city 
who  might  wish  to  see  me — which  I  doubt  very 
much ;  I  do  not  go  to  any  place  where  I  shall 
be  likely  to  make  or  meet  with  acquaintances. 
This  seems  unfriendly  and  selfish,  perhaps;  but 
it  is  the  only  means  of  accomplishing  what  you 
undertake.  A  few  hours  dissipation  would  ruin 
the  day,  and  possibly  the  following  day,  with- 
out any  reward  that  I  know  of;  so  I  have  de- 


80  PABIS. 

f erred  my  carnival  till  I  return  home.  Yet  I  ani 
lonely  at  times,  and  it  is  a  humiliating  feeling 
to  meet  thousands  of  people  day  after  day  on 
the  street  and  in  the  galleries,  without  being 
greeted  once;  you  begin  to  ask  yourself  this 
question:  of  what  significance  am  I,  this  atom, 
anyhow?  The  individual  certainly  has  his  lit- 
tleness and  unimportance  brought  home  to  him 
in  a  great  world-city  like  Paris ;  and  it  is  no 
wonder  that  so  many  come  here  and  commit  sui- 
cide. Finding  themselves  to  be  nothing,  they 
put  the  logic  to  themselves  hy  means  of  a  pis- 
tol-shot or  dose  of  poison,  thus  literally  making 
themselves  nothing.  No  person  is  allowed  by 
the  police  to  ascend  the  Arc  de  Triomphe 
without  company,  lest  he  precipitate  himself 
beneath. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  always 
enough  to  restore  the  balance,  the  individual 
can  here  find  a  world,  which  he  may  take  into 
himself  if  he  have  the  strength.  On  the  whole 
I  have  never  been  in  better  spirits  in  my  life 
than  since  my  arrival  in  Europe.  First  of  all, 
one  is  relieved  of  the  petty  vexations  which 
worry  the  practical  life  of  man ;  here  one  is 
freed  for  the  time  being  of  the  necessity  of 
working  for  bread  and  butter,  and  is  fed  by 
the  angels.  Every  vocation  begets  friction; 
at  present  there  is  no  need  of  thinking  of 
my  vocation.     What  a  blessing!     But,  secondly, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  81 

I  am  within  a  five  minutes'  walk  of  the  Louvre, 
a  world  in  itself,  where  one  can  find  society 
enough  and  of  the  best  kind;  indeed  one  can 
choose  his  company  freely,  without  the  restraints 
of  social  etiquette.     That  is  the  world  for  me. 

I  have  a  room  entirely  to  myself  in  the  fourth 
story  of  a  building     and  there    are  three  stories 
more. above  me  occupied  in  the  main  by  families, 
some  of  which  are  lodged  just  under    the  roof. 
Thus  every  house  is  packed  with  human   flesh, 
like  sardines  in  a  box.     In  this  way  you  may  see 
how  even  the  poor  of  Paris   live  high.     Particu- 
larly the  upper  stories  are  densely  tenanted,  for 
the  lower  rooms  are  taken  for  business.       To  the 
rear  of  my  room  is    a  large  open  court  surrounded 
by    high    houses,    from  my  window  I    can    see 
innumerable  little  industries  busily   prosecuted, 
chiefly  by  young  women.  Artificial  flowers,  toys, 
needle  work,  in  fine  all  the  little  fancies  in  which 
the  French  are  so  skillful,  spring  into  being  there 
before  the  eye.     But  this  is  not  all.     If  I  pre- 
sent myself  at  the  window    on   the  stairway.  I 
have    a   dozen  glances  cast  toward  me  at  once, 
which  dozen   soon  call  more,  so  every  window 
across  the    court  soon  has  one  pair  of  eyes  or 
more    looking,    laughing,    coquetting    with    me. 
Even  from  that  distance  one  has  his  choice,  the 
prettiest  face  will  be  selected,  then  the  rest  turn 
quickly  away.     A  little  touch  of  jealous  spite  can 
not  help  showing  itself  and  human  nature  takes 

6 


82  PABIS. 

a  petty  revenge  for  even  so  trivial  a  matter.  It 
is  laughable  to  see  how  speedily  the  young  girl 
writes  her  own  vanity  out  in  her  actions : 
"  I  am  the  prettiest,  if  you  don't  think  so,  I 
shall  not  look  at  you."  So  a  little  amusement 
one  may  have,  ascending  the  long  stairway,  and 
resting  on  its  landing  places. 

This  is  merely  by  the  way,  however;  my  real 
home  is  in  the  gallery  of  statuary  in  the  Louvre ; 
thither  I  go  daily,  seeking  to  make  acquain- 
tances. It  is  astonishing  to  see  with  what  flip- 
pancy and  carelessness  people  treat  the  sculpture 
there.  They  run  through  the  halls,  casting  a 
look  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  stopping  for  a 
moment  if  any  object  happens  to  excite  a  passing 
curiosity.  Doubtless  many  visitors  can  not  re- 
main long  in  the  city,  but  this  is  certainly  not 
the  case  with  all  —  and  all  that  I  have  seen  rush 
ahead.  I  suppose  that  I  have  already  been  in 
the  gallery  of  sculpture  a  dozen  times,  and  when 
I  once  am  there,  I  have  to  remain  the  whole  day. 
It  satisfies  me,  this  is  the  company  I  am  endeav- 
oring to  know.  But  one  thing  jars,  I  wish  to 
see  somebody  like  me ;  yet,  during  my  period  of 
observation  I  have  not  noticed  a  single  person 
who  devoted  fifteen  minutes  to  the  study  of  a 
statue.  Such  a  way  of  treating  great  works  of 
any  kind  is  so  contrary  to  my  mode  of  thinking 
that  I  can  not  help  being  vexed  by  it  a  little. 
Immediate    impressions    are    demanded    by   the 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  83 

populace,  even  by  the  cultivated  populace;  but 
ancient  sculpture  can  not  possibly  make  an  im- 
mediate impression,  and  I  hold  that  no  great 
product  of  any  kind  can  do  so.  Greatness 
comes  from  thought,  thought  can  be  attained  l)y 
t'linking  only,  and  thiuking  demands  long  con- 
tinued effort.  So  I  sit  down  before  the  white 
marbles  and  question  and  cross-question  them  by 
the  hour,  often  without  receiving  any  answer. 

Sometimes  I  feel  half  ashamed  of  myself  for 
lino"erins:  so  lougr  in  the  presence  of  a  statue 
whose  parts  I  am  trying  to  bring  into  harmon- 
ious proportion,  or  whose  idea  I  am  seeking  to 
grasp.  I  imagine  that  the  French  guard  looks 
at  me  with  suspicion,  as  I  seem  to  be  sitting 
there  dreaming  away  tht  time  or  jotting  down 
something  in  my  note  book;  he  will  sometimes 
come  up  to  me  and  take  my  paper  to  see  whether 
I  be  not  drawing  a  sketch,  for  which  one  has  to 
obtain  permission.  No,  it  is  but  a  scrawl  of 
words  in  a  strange  tongue,  signs  of  a  struggle 
with  the  statue  which  refuses  to  give  up  its 
thought.  Especially  my  repeated  visits  to  the 
same  statue  is  enough  to  excite  a  Christian 
doubt.  One  day  an  old  woman  from  the 
country,  who  had  noticed  me  tarrying  in  the 
hall,  asked  me  if  1  believed  in  that  God;  she  had 
heard  that  some  of  these  statues  were  Gods  in  a 
country  far  away,  and  that  the  people  of  that 
country  were  in  the  habit  of  coming  here  secretly 


84  PARIS. 

and  worshipping  their  divinities,  who  had  been 
captured  in  war  and  carried  as  prisoners  to  this 
room  by  Napoleon.  What  could  I  tell  the  old 
woman?  Yes,  that  image  of  Venus  was  divine 
to  me,  and  I  was  indeed  a  worshii)per  from  a  far 
off  country,  and  hither  I  had  waudered  trying  to 
find  my  Gods. 

I  feel  that  there  is  some  change  ofoing;  on 
within,  what  it  is,  I  cannot  tell.  All  this  con- 
templation of  the  great  originals  of  Artists  is  a 
new  field  of  activity;  it  is  a  vust  realm  of 
beauty  which  I  had  merely  heard  of  before,  but 
whose  description  sounded  like  a  tale  of  fairy 
land.  To  be  suddenly  thrown  into  it  at  this 
period  of  life  may  bring  forth  some  permanent 
result,  or  may  be  only  a  temporary  dazzling  of 
the  senses ;  still  it  smites  me  strongly  now.  I 
go  ahead  without  thinking  nmcli  of  this  matter, 
the  effect  will  be  the  same  at  any  rate.  It  was 
a  vague  instinct  of  wanting  something  that  drove 
me  to  Europe  after  having  kept  the  longing  and 
the  purpose  burning  in  me  for  many  years. 
The  loadstone  that  now  attracts  me  is  Art,  par- 
ticularly the  Antique ;  why  it  is  so,  I  cannot 
divine.  The  demon  within  pulls  and  I  have  to 
follow,  my  intelligence  as  yet  can  give  no  ac- 
count of  his  doings.  1  drop  all  the  other  at- 
tractions of  this  most  attractive  city  of  the 
world,  and  go  for  my  society  and  entertainment 
to  the  cold,  passionless  shapes  of  the    Louvre; 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  85 

why  is  it  so,  you  may  ponder  too,  my  friend,  and 
give  me  your  view. 

You  see  I  take  some  pride  in  my  seclusion,  yet 
there  is  no  contempt  in  it,  I  hope.       You  would 
be  astonished  to  see  what  a  recluse  I  have  made 
of  myself  right  in  the  heart  of  this  great  throb- 
bins:  citv,    itself   the   center    of    the  life  of  the 
globe,  as  the  French  claim  with  no  little  justice. 
I  almost  think  that  I  am  nearly  solitary  in  my 
pursuit  even  here,  for  I  have  not  been  able  to  dis- 
tiniruish  a  sino:le  student  of  the  Antique  in  the 
Louvre;  I  mean,  not  those  who  study  it  for  tech- 
nical,   historical   or    antiquarian    purposes,     but 
those  who  seek  to  absorb  its  spirit  for  the  culture 
which  it  imparts,  for  that  peculiar  transformation 
of  soul  which  it  must,  asonevaguely  feels,  bring 
about.     Yes,  Goethe  says  so,   and  he  is  now  the 
truest  guide    in   this  respect-     I    hold    that  the 
Antique  with  its  absolute    sense  of   form,   even 
with  its  very  coldness  is  best  calculated  to  assuage 
the  raoring  fever  of  the  modern  world,  to  give  at 
least    one  cool  draught  to  the  volcanic  spirit  of 
our  time  and  of  our  country.     It  has  no  longer 
any  chaos,    or    fierce  chaotic    strugglings  —  the 
(Titans  were  put  down  long  ago  by  Jupiter,  now  sit- 
ting serenely  on  Olympus;  here  in  the  Louvre  we 
may,  partially  at  least,  behold  him  and  his  divine 
family  in  their  reposeful  triumph. 

On  looking  back,  it  seems   to   me  that  I    have 
talked  so  much  about  myself   and   my  moods   in 


86  PABIS, 

this  letter,  that  I  shall  have  to  give  you  a  little 
antidote  on  another  sheet.  Let  me  tell  you  the 
result  of  a  short  study  of  two  of  the  greatest 
Italian  painters  whose  names  are  so  well  known 
to  you  —  Raphael  and  Leonardo  Da  Vinci. 
There  are  half  a  dozen  pictures  by  Leonardo  in 
the  Louvre,  and  more  than  a  dozen  by  Raphael; 
so  there  are  enough  to  make  a  start  with.  The 
first  point  which  you  begin  to  be  cognizant  of  is 
that  each  of  these  artists  has  one  distinct  ulti- 
mate type  in  his  mind,  and  from  this  type  spring 
all  his  works,  whatever  be  their  variety ;  it  con- 
stitutes not  only  their  unity,  but  is  their  creative 
center.  Now  to  work  through  all  externals  to 
this  type  and  impress  it  upon  the  mind,  is  the 
supreme  object  of  the  student,  in  my  judgment; 
you  then  have  the  primitive  image  from  which 
the  artist  himself  does  hardly  more  than  copy  in 
one  way  or  another,  he  must  paint  from  his 
ideal  and  that  ideal  is  fundamentally  one  and 
the  same. 

Putting  Leonardo's  paintings  together,  and 
seeking  the  face  common  to  them  all,  you  will 
soon  acquire  his  type,  particularly  his  female 
type.  I  do  not  think  this  will  ever  go  from  me, 
I  hope  indeed  to  carry  it  with  me  always.  The 
visage  is  rather  long  and  inclines  to  sharpness, 
yet  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  refined;  also  there 
is  usually  a  smile  ])laying  over  the  features,  a 
very   subtle    smile    of    self-consciousness.       The 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  87 

eye  repeats,  the  same  trait,  it  looks  ut  you  with  :i 
knowins:  glance,  as  if  there  were  some  secret  Iv- 
ing  back  in  the  mind;  yet  all  this  is  done  so  un- 
obtrusively that  it  does  not  oifend,  but  actually 
constitutes  the  charm  and  the  very  essence  of 
Leonardo's  manner.  This  cunning  smile  de- 
stroys the  naive  expression,  to  be  sure;  for  there 
is  a  consciousness  of  self,  and  the  character  be- 
comes double,  still  such  a  face  is  subtle  and  in- 
tellectual. Thus  Mona  Lisa  has  a  dash  of 
coquetry  and  La  Belle  Ferronniere  looks  out  of 
the  corner  of  her  eyes  roguishly,  though  the 
delicate  smile  hardly  reaches  her  lips.  Double- 
ness  there  is  in  these  faces  —  not  duplicity,  still 
you  may  call  it  cunning.  Now  have  you  seized 
my  thought?  But  I  know  how  impossible  it  is 
to  paint  a  look  with  words;  color  is  its  language. 
Coming  to  Raphael's  type  you  find  it  very  dif- 
ferent, indeed  opposite  you  may  say,  though  it 
varies  somewhat  according  to  the  periods  of  his 
life.  The  face  is  full,  the  cheeks  are  inclined  to 
be  a  little  puffed,  upper  part  of  the  visage  is 
broad,  lower  part  narrows  itself  to  a  dimunitive 
chin.  Such  is  the  Raphaelitic  type  in  its  excess, 
but  the  artist  will  modify  it  into  perfect  sym- 
metry in  his  later  and  best  works ;  still  it  is  al- 
ways the  same  face  peering  from  behind  at  you, 
though  it  runs  throutrh  the  whole  scale  from 
homeliness  to  a  completely  harmonious  expres- 
sion.    Thus    we    behold     Raphael     continually 


88  PABIS. 

painting  from  the  one  inner  model,  by  no  means 
some  naked  shape  in  his  studio.  How  different, 
though,  is  the  keen-visaged  type  of    Leonardo! 

But  it  is  the  eye  of  Raphael's  figures,  perhaps 
one  ought  to  say,  the  entire  gaze,  which  is  the 
supreme  expression  of  his  Art.  The  look  is 
that  of  absolute  unconsciousness,  there  is  no 
doubleness  now;  it  is  the  soul  in  its  primitive 
innocence,  not  yet  blossomed  into  self-know- 
ledge. The  Madonnas,  though  they  be  of  the 
plainest  sort,  have  that  unconscious  look  of  de- 
votion and  of  devotedness  which  can  have  no 
predicate  in  human  speech ;  gaze  at  their  faces 
imaged  on  the  canvas,  that  is  the  true  utterance 
of  them.  What  is  most  delightful  in  childhood, 
and  most  attractive  in  womanhood  are  there 
combined;    innocence    and  beauty  are  one    and 

all. 

The  type  of  Raphael  is,  therefore,  not  intel- 
lectual; it  is  the  bud  of  the  rose  slightly  un- 
folded, just  enough  to  let  you  see  down  into  the 
heart  of  it;  it  is  Paradise  with  its  innocent, 
beautiful  unconscious  beings  —  all  is  youth  and 
spring,  both  the  world  and  its  inhabitants.  But 
in  Leonardo  the  bud  has  leaved  out,  the  soul 
has  burst  forth  to  its  own  sun;  in  his  type  the 
mind  sees  itself  in  its  own  mirror,  and  therewith 
the  character  no  longer  remains  in  a  simple  un- 
reflecting unity  with  itself,  but  becomes  double, 
knows  itself.     It  is  an  old,  very  old  distinction; 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  89 

Raphael  lived  with  Eve  in  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
but  Leonardo  ran  away  with  her  after  she  had 
eaten  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge. 
But,  my  friend,  these  generalizations  are  too 
early,  I  am  aware;  wait  then  for  Italy  and 
Rome,  or  perchance  till  I  return  to  St.  Louis. 


Paris,  Feb.  21st,  1878. 

In  comparison  with  London,  Paris  is  literary. 
Everywhere  Literature  is  in  evidence.  Particu- 
larly if  one  passes  over  to  the  Latin  Quarter, 
there  seems  to  be  nothing  but  books  of  all  sorts, 
second-hand  especially.  Then  cheap  editions 
of  the  best  authors  are  always  at  the  turn 
of  the  next  corner.  Also  the  popular  novels 
swamp  the  city  with  printer's  ink  —  Paul  de 
Kock  seems  uppermost.  I  bought  one  of  his  and 
read  it,  to  find  out  its  readers  more  than  its 
writer.  Not  so  bad;  but  of  course  a  Parisian 
love  intrisfue  with  all  the  brimbramborium.  A 
good  time-killer,  I  think,  and  so  I  can  read  no 
more  of  that  sort. 

If  there  is  any  such  public  utilization  and  mas- 
sive need  for  Literature  in  London,  I  did  not 
come  upon  it.  In  the  realm  of  the  printed  page, 
only  the  newspaper  seems  stronger  there.  In 
the  Parisian  sense  America  has  no  use  for  Litera- 
ture. A  writer  of  books  has  no  business  to  be 
in  the  land  of    liberty ;  already  I  have  tasted  of 


90  PARIS. 

that  sour  piece  of  bread,  and  am  probably  des- 
tined to  nibble  at  it  the  rest  of  my  life,  for  I  feel 
just  here  more  than  ever  before,  that  the  scrib- 
bling fiend  has  gotten  hold  of  me  and  will  not 
easily  be  shaken  off.  You  ought  to  see  (not 
read)  the  quantity  of  notes  I  have  taken,  par- 
ticularly at  the  Louvre.  Many  pencillings  I  have 
thrown  into  the  fire,  they  being  'damned  to  such  an 
Inferno  not  for  wickedness  but  for  super- 
fluity. This  reminds  me  that  I  have  up-stairs 
here  a  neighbor  who  is  a  little  piece  of  a  novelist, 
and  seems  to  get  good  pay  for  his  stuff.  Through 
our  common  landlady,  who  is  a  Swiss  speaking 
German  and  French,  and  who  had  observed  the 
scribbled  litter  in  both  our  rooms,  we  became 
acquainted.  He  gave  me  one  of  his  novelettes;  I 
read  it  and  then  flung  it  into  the  blaze  on  my 
hearth,  reducing  it  again  to  the  smut  which  it 
originally  was.  Time  will  avenge  him  on  me,  it 
may  be,  though  for  a  different  cause,  I  hope. 

Paris,  Feb.  24th,  1878. 

Again  and  again  I  have  tried  to  probe  down 
to  the  ground  of  that  literary  supremacy  over 
Europe,  which  France  has  so  long  exercised. 
Of  the  fact  there  can  be  little  doubt.  A  Russian 
novel  has  to  go  to  Paris  and  to  be  put  into  a 
French  dress  ere  it  can  make  the  tour  of  Europe. 
The  same  is  largely  true  of  the  mental  products 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  91 

of  other  European  nations,  not  excepting  the 
English  and  the  German.  France  has  been 
hitherto  the  interpreter  of  intellectual  Europe 
to  itself,  the  center  of  its  literary  distribution. 
Yet  the  highest  originality  in  Letters  it  lacks,  it 
has  never  produced  a  Literary  Bible  like  Homer, 
Dante,  Shakespeare,  Goethe.  For  to  such 
lofty  company  Moliere  and  Hugo  cannot  be  ele- 
vated, and  they  seem  to  be  the  chief  competi- 
tors for  the  honor.  The  function  of  France  is 
rather  that  of  a  mediator  between  North  and 
South,  between  the  Teutonic  and  Latin  peoples, 
lying  as  she  lies  on  the  Atlantic  and  the  Medi- 
terranean,  and  being  herself  both  North  and 
South,  both  Teutonic  and  Latin. 

A  people  often  tells  on  itself  in  its  proverbs, 
in  which  it  declares  to  be  universal  that  which  is 
true  only  of  itself.  A  well-known  proverbial 
expression  or  apothegm  which  Frenchmen  seem 
to  take  for  granted,  is  le  atyle  c'est  Vhomme. 
That  is,  the  form  is  the  great  thing,  not  the  con- 
tent. Undoubtedly  the  style  manifests  the  indi- 
vidual but  it  is  not  the  individual.  I  hold  that 
the  German  people  could  not  beget  such  a  pro- 
verb. The  stress  with  them  is  on  the  other  side. 
Hence  the  complaint  so  often  heard  about  the 
lack  of  style  in  German  writers.  One  thinks 
that  the  two  opposite  elements  ought  to  be 
united.  But  it  is  astonishins^  how  much  French 
criticism  dilates  upon  style,     I  have  been  reading 


92  PAEIS. 

a  good  many  literary  biographies  recently  at  the 
Library,  and  the  impression  left  upon  me  is  that 
in  France  the  What  is  of  small  Import  compared 
to  the  How.  Such  a  trait  in  the  individual  or 
in  the  nation  develops  at  the  expense  of  origi- 
nahty,  through  the  very  excess  of  expression. 
The  French  may  well  be  deemed  the  stylists  of 
Europe,  though  hardly  its  greatest  thijikers  or 
poets. 

So  the  rest  of  Europe  goes  to  France  for 
style  —  style  in  dress,  style  in  deportment 
(politeness), style  in  conversation,  style  in  litera- 
ture. Not  without  significance  is  the  fact  that 
diplomacy  employs  French,  which  is  also  a  kind 
of  lingua  franca  for  Europe  (note  that /mwm  is 
not  very  far  from  frangais) .  Style  in  itself  is 
meritorious,  but  when  pursued  for  its  own  sake 
has  the  tendency  to  drop  into  mere  stylishness. 
Who  can  deny  such  a  tendency  in  the  French 
character  ?  It  seems  to  me  I  note  it  in  the  French 
lano-uage,  even  in  theFrench  accent.  Of  certain 
famous  French  artists  and  writers  one  cannot 
help  often  thinking  that  they  have  nothing  to 
say,  but  they  say  it  very  beautifully  or  rather 
very  stylishly o 

Two  other  questions  flash  up  in  the  present 
connection.  The  first  is.  How  did  this  peculiar 
position  and  character  of  France  evolve  out  of 
its  original  national  elements?  The  second  is, 
will  the  French  tongue  and  literature  keep  their 


A   TOUR  m  EUROPE.  93 

historic  place  as  distributors  of  ideas  through 
Europe?  Even  a  third  question  insists  here 
upon  propounding  itself:  a  linguistic  distribu- 
tion of  the  race's  thought  over  the  total  globe  is 
at  hand  —  will  its  vehicle  be  French  or  English 
or  some  other  tongue?  I  shall  soon  leave  Paris, 
and  you  must  wait  till  I  come  back  for  my 
answer. 

Paris,  Feb.  26th,  1878. 

As  in  London,  I  have  overstaid  my  time  in 
Paris.  But  that  makes  little  difference,  I  am 
determined  to  fight  to  the  finish  this  battle  of 
Europe  with  me,  not  only  if  it  takes  all  next 
summer,  but  all  next  year.  In  fact  at  Paris 
total  Europe  begins  deluging  dawn  upon  you 
overwhelmingly.  London  is  on  an  island,  and 
has  the  English  insularity.  But  Paris  is  on  a 
continent,  and  you  feel  the  need  of  a  continental 
adjustment.  The  soul  is  stretched  almost  to  the 
point  of  bursting  to  take  up  the  new  impres- 
sions, which  attack  you  on  all  sides.  A  vast 
quantity  of  things  I  have  only  been  able  to  put 
to  soak,  in  the  language  of  the  washerwoman, 
with  the  hope  of  taking  them  out  of  the  froth 
and  suds  when  I  come  back  —  and  come  back  I 
must,  unless  the  Lord  interferes  in  my  affairs 
with  a  stronoj  hand. 

I  passed  by  the  site  of  the  Column  Vendome 
to-day,  and  was  reminded  of  our  common  friend 


94  PARIS. 

Brockmeyer.  He  used  to  cite  its  destruction  us 
a  strikiuo-  instance  of  what  he  called  the  dialectic 
of  History.  The  Prussian  armies  filed  by  it, 
looked  up  at  it,  and  left  it  standing,  though  it 
was  a  monument  of  their  former  defeat.  When 
they  were  gone,  the  French  went  to  that  same 
monument,  looked  up  at  it  and  said :  You  are  a 
lie,  down  with  you!  And  down  it  came.  Thus 
Brockmeyer  in  a  dramatic  outburst,  as  we  once 
sat  philosophizing  over  the  Franco-Prussian  War, 
so  astonishing  in  its  sudden  colossal  victories. 
1  often  think  of  him  here  and  wonder  what  he 
would  say  to  this  French  world.  Teuton  that  he 
h.  Tell  me  the  news  about  him.  I  hear  that 
he  has  been  acting  as  Governor  of  the  State  a 
good  deal,  and  is  busy ;  otherwise  I  would  write 
to  him  myself.  I  did  not  see  him  for  quite  a 
while  before  I  left  St.  Louis,  I  think  he  was  out 
of  town.  To  you  I  may  say  that  I  deem  his 
greatness  finds  better  expression  in  conversation 
than  in  writing,  which  really  obstructs  the  flow 
of  his  originahty.  And  even  his  spoken  word  in 
English  does  not  run  as  freely  — -  so  he  has  ef ten 
told  me — as  in  his  beloved  Piatt- Deutsche  which 
dialect,  I  have  heard  him  declare  with  pride, 
was  spoken  preferably  by  both  Bismark  and 
Moltke,  and  of  course  by  Brockmeyer. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  95 

Paris,  Hue  Vivienne,  Feb.  27,   1878. 

This  is  the  last  day  I  shall  spend  in  Paris  and 
I  think  that  there  is  no  better  way  of  bringin*;  it 
to  an  end  than  by  writing  to  you.  I  hope  this 
letter  will  fand  you  in  the  enjoyment  of  good  health 
and  also  participating  in  the  grand  overture  to 
the  new  Spring,  which  will  have  begun  ere  these 
lines  reach  your  hands.  Here  the  weather  has 
been  extremely  fine  for  the  last  two  weeks,  and 
it  is  with  great  unwillingness  that  I  leave  it  be- 
hind. But  to-morrow  —  Providence  smiling  on 
my  purpose —  I  set  out  for  the  Eternal  city,  the 
objective  point  of  my  travels » 

I  have  been  in  Paris  now  a  few  days  more  than 
a  mouth  —  with  what  results  to  myself  I  cannot 
tell,  I  know  that  I  have  been  pretty  busy, 
though  I  have  not  tried  to  see  many  things  — 
non  multa  sed  multum — still  I  have  scattered  my 
work  too  much.  How  hard  it  is  to  confine  my- 
self amidst  such  a  multiplicity  of  objects  !  The 
chief  scene  of  uiy  endeavors  was  the  Louvre  in 
the  Gallery  of  Ancient  Sculpture  ;  there  I  sought 
to  get  an  inklinoj  of  the  wonderful  sense  of  form 
which  seems  to  belong  peculiarly  to  Ancient 
Greece.  With  what  success  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  do  know  that  some  thoughts  have  dawned  upon 
me  wiih  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun,  but  others  and 
indeed  the  most  still  remain  far  off  in  the  indefi- 
nite twiliiiht       Time  mav  briu«:  them  nearer  and 


96  PAIilS. 

make  them  more  distinct ;  or  perhaps  when  I 
arrive  at  Rome,  I  shall  be  right  in  the  midst  of 
them,  and  what  I  could  not  see  at  Paris  I  shall 
be  able  to  see  there. 

Also  I  have  paid  a  good  deal  of  attention  to 
Painting,  particularly  to  the  old  Italian  masters, 
but  I  do  not  yet  feel  at  home  in  this  field  and  can 
at  most  only  distinguish  two  or  three  schools. 
But  it  is  strange  !  The  problem  forces  itself  on 
the  mind  for  solution,  when  one  sees  the  immense 
amount  of  time  and  genius  that  have  been  spent  on 
the  Madonna,  Holy  Family,  and  other  classes  of 
pictures  in  which  the  Virgin  and  Child  appear. 
All  the  poetry  and  religion  of  the  Italian  people 
seem  to  have  poured  itself  into  these  representa- 
tions during  centuries.  Coming  from  a  new 
world,  for  me  it  is  difficult  to  realize  what  this 
strange  product  of  the  past  means  —  not  a  little 
of  it,  which  is  explicable,  but  the  whale  of  it. 
Of  course  I  philosophize  upon  the  matter  and 
soon  comprehend  the  pure  logic  of  it  —  but  this 
is  not  satisfactory  at  all ;  one  must  be  able  to 
take  up  a  great  historical  phenomenon  into  his 
feelings  and  not  merely  into  his  reason.  I  have 
not  therefore  yet  been  able  to  realize  to  myself 
and  in  myself  the  consciousness  which  lies  at  the 
basis  of  modern  Paintinir. 

Then  the  public  edifices  of  Paris,  many  of 
which  are  very  noble  and  beautiful,  I  have  seen 
—  the  finest  of  them  a  number  of  times.     One  can 


I 


A  TOUIi  IN  EUROPE.  97 

behold  e>xcelleut  specimens  of  Uoth  Gothic  and 
CUissic  Architecture,  and  fix  in  his  mind  the 
leading  types  of  both  as  well  as  study  their 
aesthetic  effects.  I  confess  that  just  now  the 
Gothic  style  lays  hold  of  me  with  great  power, 
and  I  should  say  that  I  have  reached  down  into 
its  principles  and  purposes  with  my  feelings 
further  than  into  any  other  form  of  Art.  But 
here  too  I  am  the  merest  schoolboy,  and  so  rapid 
are  the  changes  that  in  a  month  hence  I  may  have 
an  entirely  new  preference.  You  are  aware, 
that  here  at  Paris  men  change  their  loves  with 
frequency. 

But  for  some  days  now  I  have  kept  away  from 
galleries  and  sight-seeing  of  every  kind,  as  an- 
other impulse  insists  upon  finding  a  vent  in  ex- 
pression. Somehow  or  other  I  have  taken  to 
versifying  again  almost  in  spite  of  myself, 
against  my  conscience,  as  it  were,  since  it  would 
seem  to  be  better  to  occupy  the  sacred  moments 
here  in  viewing  that  which  I  can  not  see  in 
America.  But  Pegasus  of  old  scouted  the  pre- 
cepts of  cold  reason,  which  demanded  of  him  not 
to  fly  at  all  but  stick  to  the  solid  earth  where 
the  danger  of  falling  is  not  great,  nor  causes 
much  damage  should  the  fall  take  place. 

Indeed,  the  budding  Spring, than  which  noth- 
ing can  be  more  delightful,  makes  a  person  feel 
aggressive  and  creative.  So  I  take  walks  in  the 
Champs  Elysegsand  occupy  myself  with  my  fan- 


98  PABIS. 

cies ;  when  I  return  to  my  room  I  read  Victor 
Hugo  whose  tendencies  are  the  reverse  of  what 
is  classical.  His  poetry  takes  a  strong  hold  upon 
me  and  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  start  to  feel 
more  kinship  with  him  in  his  wild,  tortuous,  and 
often  chaotie  imagination  than  with  the  cold  im- 
passive marbles  of  the  Louvre.  It  is  a  question 
with  myself — I  am  clearly  pulled  in  two  direc- 
tions by  two  powerful  arras,  and  I  am  afraid  that 
one  is  the  strongest  which  I  do  not  want  to  be  the 
strongest.  The  Antique  is  calculated  to  allay 
the  fantastic  delirium  of  which  Victor  Hugo  is 
the  greatest  stimulant ;  yet  in  his  earlier  lyrics 
he  too  has  a  most  exquisite  form.  Still  I  begin  to 
feel  the  limits  of  this  greatest  French  poet  after 
having  met  him  in  some  of  his  best  works, 
vaguely  the  boundaries  of  his  soul  rise  up,  as  it 
were,  in  the  foggy  distance ;  but  his  fascination 
is  still  very  great  and  wonderful. 

I  had  yesterday  the  first  hard  fit  of  home- 
sickness during  my  journey.  Feeling  tired  and 
not  in  very  good  bodily  condition,  I  lay  down  to 
take  a  short  sleep  in  the  afternoon;  before 
closing  my  eyes  my  mind  turned  to  those  far 
away.  In  a  little  while  I  woke  up  in  the  middle 
of  a  dream  and  heard  a  child  singing;  the  voice 
was  so  sweet,  to  me  at  least,  that  I  resolved  to 
go  at  once  and  see  the  little  singer ;  and  some 
moments  elapsed  before  I  could  think  of  myself 
being  across  the  ocean.     It  was  with    difficulty 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  99 

that  I  could  submit  to  the  thought  of  not  being 
able  to  see  her;  then  came  a  flood  of  memories 
and  anxieties,  which  kept  my  feelings  in  an  eddy 
for  more  than  an  hour,  till  I  had  to  flee  from 
them  to  a  i)romenade  in  the  Champs  Elysees. 
But  there  every  little  girl  —  and  thousands  of 
them  are  to  be  seen  playing  under  the  eyes  of 
their  nurses  —  recalled  her  to  my  mind,  and  even 
brought  back  similar  scenes  of  her  childhood. 

My  dear  friend,  you  will  have  to  endure  these 
outbreaks  of  mine,  as  you  have  endured  them  in 
the  past.  They  are  a  part  of  me,  you  well 
know  —  so  I  shall  not  apologize  any  further.  I 
often  think  of  the  happy  hours  that  I  have  spent 
under  your  roof,  and  I  imagine  happy  ones  to 
be  still  in  store  for  us.  I  shall  come  back  —  if 
it  be  the  decree  of  fate  that  I  do  come  back  — 
with  many  a  new  experience  and  perhaps  some 
new  thoughts  fermenting  in  my  head;  1  can 
think  of  nothing  more  delightful  than  the  talk- 
ing them  over  with  you.  I  must  now  close,  the 
hour  is  late  and  I  must  retire  to  rest,  and  then 
in  the  morning  begins  the  third  act  of  my  Euro- 
pean journey. 


100  PABIS. 

Turin,  Italy,  March  1st,  1878. 

I  am  compelled  to  stay  over  night  here  much 
against  my  will,  and  to  alleviate  my  chagrin  I 
think  I  had  better  begin  at  least  a  letter  to  you, 
if  I  do  not  conclude  it  here.  Thus  far  the  jour- 
ney from  Paris  has  been  a  series  of  petty  annoy- 
ances and  swindles  till  I  am  just  now  half  sick 
with  vexation.  In  the  first  place  at  Paris  I  took 
the  wrong  train  —  the  slow  one  —  and  the  result 
was  that  everywhere  there  was  delay  and  slow- 
ness ;  besides  I  had  to  change  four  times  to  a 
different  car,  expecting  every  time  that  I  might 
go  wrong.  Why  subject  passengers  to  such 
torture !  American  railroads  are  in  many  re- 
^  spects  ahead  of  European  —  a  statement  which  I 
have  spitefully  repeated  to  myself  a  hundred 
times  to-day.  But  here  I  am,  safe  in  a  pretty 
good  inn,  and  perhaps  I  ought  to  be  thankful. 

Still  in  looking  back  at  the  last  thirty  hours  I 
have  to  scold,  and  then  in  pure  malice  to  laugh 
at  my  petty  yet  vexatious  misfortunes.  I  was 
swindled  by  the  ticket  seller  out  of  five  francs, 
but  I  thought  it  better  not  to  make  any  fuss 
with  him,  as  it  requires  a  good  knowledge  of  a 
language  to  damn  a  man  well  in  it,  and  my  com- 
mand of  French  I  felt  to  be  inadequate.  Then 
a  restaurant  overcharged  for  an  indifferent  meal 
at  least  three  francs  — the  money  I  could  lose, 
though  not  swallow  the    insult.     I  will  not  be 


A  TOUR  IN  EUIiOPE.  101 

cheated  out  of  a  cent,  for  deception  is  a  direct 
contempt  of  the  intelligence,  and  these  fellows 
imagine  that  they  can  treat  a  foreigner  as  they 
please.     In    one    of   the  changes    on    the   rail- 
road, I  left  my  opera  glass  behind —  a  very  good 
one  which  I  had  bought  at  Paris  and  with  which 
I  was    viewing  the    scenery   through    which  we 
were   passing.     Just  now    too  I  find    that    the 
stopper    has    come    out   of    my    brandy    bottle 
which  I  had  just  replenished  at  Paris  with  some 
excellent  cognac,  wetting  my  coat  tail  to  a  sop 
and  making  me  have  the  odor  of  an  old  to])er. 
I  have  had  to  wring  out  the  precious  fluid  on  the 
floor  from  my  garment,  and  the  naughty  bottle  I 
have  flung  out  of  the  door,  thouifh  as  I  looked  at 
it  and  read  upon  its  label  the  mime  of  St.  Louis, 
my    heart     almost     relented.     The     next    trip, 
thought  I,  it  is  my  fixed  purpose  to  have  a  flask 
with  a  stopper  which  screws  on —  no  more  corks 
for  me,  they  have  in  them  too  much  of  the  tem- 
perance crusade,  spilling  liquor  in  that  way. 

Well,  having  written  myself  into  a  sort  of 
good  humor  at  your  expense,  I  may  tell  you  of 
some  of  the  pleasant  experiences  I  met  WMth  — 
for  the  whole  journey  was  spun  of  two  threads, 
a  dark  and  a  bright.  I  had  much  amusement  in 
looking  at  the  country  which  is  tilled  like  a  gar- 
den, and  in  observing  the  peasantry  in  their 
peculiar  costumes.  The  landscape  was  delight- 
fully varied  with    hill,    dale,  village,    and    even 


102  PABIS. 

ruins ;  but  the  primeval  forest  of  America  is  en- 
tirely wanting  with  ;ts  rough,  irregular,  Titanic 
boldness.     Here   Nature   is  subdued  and  every 
where   shows  the  hand   of  cultivation,  which  is 
both  a  gain  and  a  loss;  she  is  more  graceful,  but 
is  tame  alonsside   of  her  American  sister.     At 
last  the  Alps  begin  to  appear,  the  grandeur  in- 
creases  as  we  ascend.     At  first  we  see  the  snow 
above   us,  then  we  get    up  into    it  —  the  warm 
breath  of  spring  in  the  valleys    changes   to   the 
chilly  temperature  of  winter.     Snow  drifts    are 
seen,  the  beginnings  of  the  avalanche,  threaten- 
ing the  huts  below  whose  inmates  must  live  in 
eternal   terror ;   white-capped  summits  glittering 
coldly  in  the  sun  fill  the  sky  with  the  turrets  of 
this  vast  cathedral  whose  stones  are  the  moun- 
tains.    In  fact  I  could  not  help  thinking  often 
that  the  architects  of  the  Gothic  derived  their  in- 
spiration   and   perhaps   their   fundamental    idea 
from  the  Alps  or  some  other  mountains.     The 
sides  rising  up  steeply  and  grandly,  often  break- 
ing out  into  .several  pinnacles;  the  mass  spring- 
ing from  the  surfaces  of  the  rock  and  giving  to 
it  the  brown  and  grey  hue  of  age;  the   curious 
and  fantastic  shapes  which  easily   form   them- 
selves in  outline  against  the  sky  or  against  more 
remote  peaks ;  the  summits  and  sides  often   re- 
producing  the   pointed  arch,  the    characteristic 
of  Gothic  architecture ;  the  fret-work  of  stone 
common  to  both  cathedral  and  mountain — those 


A   TOUIi  IN  EUROPE.  103 

and  many  other  resemblances  rise  up  before  the 
mind  of  the  traveller  as  he  passes  from  the 
cities  of  the  plain  to  these  colossal  edifices  of 
Nature.  At  lea.^t  my  imagination  was  busied 
with  tracing  the  comparison  which  may  be  in- 
deed forced,  for  I  am  just  now  filled  with  these 
Gothic  forms.  But  why  write  all  this  to  you 
who  have  never  seen  one  of  those  old  structures? 
It  is  to  show  you  that  upon  this  giant  chagrin 
I  cast  the  mountains  and  buried  it  deep,  deep,  as 
Jupiter  served  his  giants  in  the  old  story.  My- 
self comparing  myself  to  Jupiter — that  is  enough 
for  this  subject. 

At  Turin  I  have  received  an  introduction  to 
Italy  in  the  slxape  of  an  enormous  flea  which 
popped  into  infinite  space  just  as  I  was  about  to 
nab  it — let  me  say,  I  found  the  jumper  comfort- 
ably snoozing  in  my  bed,  just  as  I  turned  over 
the  clothes  for  the  purpose  of  crawling  in  my- 
self. From  Turin  I  go  to  Genoa.  I  forgot 
to  say  that  the  long  tunnel  through  Mount 
Cenis  is,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  dark  —  for  I 
could  not  see  at  all.  As  darkness  is  said  to  be 
greatest  just  before  day,  so  this  passage  may  be 
the  infernal  })relude  to  the  bright  paradise  of 
Italy.  How  gladly  one  descends  into  this  warm 
sunny  plain  after  communing  awhile  with  those 
cold  Alpine  heights ! 


TRome. 

Rome,  March  3,  1878. 

And  so  it  has  fallen  out  that  a  dream  has 
come  true  —  a  dream  which  first  began  to  hover 
entrancingly  before  my  eyes  when  I,  a  mere 
stripling,  read  of  Eome  and  her  greatness  in 
RolUii's  Ancient  History,  which  I  had  borrowed 
from  an  older  boy  at  schosl ;  then  in  my  Col- 
lege days  the  Latin  Historians  —  Caesar,  Sal- 
lust,  Livy  —  kept  the  fancy  alive  and  ferment- 
ing ;  especially  the  speeches  of  Cicero  imprinted 
the  chief  localities  of  this  mighty  City  upon  the 
student's  mind  in  a  way  which  remained  quite 
indelible.  Gibbon  is  not  to  be  left  out  of  these 
early  influences ;  nor  must  I  forget  that  small 
copy  of  Horace  which  I  carried  in  the  breast- 
(104) 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  105 

pocket  of  my  blouse  while  a  soldier  of  the  Civil 
War,  and  which  I  often  peeped  into  while 
waiting  en  the  fire-line. 

But  let  this  thread  of  memories  he  snipped 
off  at  once  as  we  cross  the  bridge  over  the  yel- 
low Tiber,  approach  the  wall  of  Aurelian,  l)eh»ld 
the  aqueducts  running  through  the  Campagna, 
and  enter  the  railroad  station  opposite  the  Baths 
of  Diocletian.  In  America  the  iron-horse  seems 
perfectly  natural  and  at  home ;  but  when  he 
runs  into  Rome  and  drops  you  down  in  the  midst 
of  its  ruins,  you  hardly  know  at  first  whether 
you  are  a  ghost  or  a  reality.  The  moral  and 
institutional  world  of  which  these  ruins  are  a 
kind  of  body  is  felt  to  be  very  different  from 
yours.  A  phantom  you  seem  to  yourself,  sepa- 
rated so  suddenly  from  the  institutions  in  which 
you  were  born  and  reared,  and  which  are  your 
second  nature  if  not  your  first.  And  the  prob- 
lem rises :  Can  you  make  your  own  that  old 
world  so  different  yet  in  the  line  of  your  own 
spiritual  evolution?  Can  your  ghost  or  soul 
enter  into  this  ruinous  dead  body  and  cause  it  to 
live  again  for  you  at  least?  If  so  your  own 
existence  will  become  a  much  larger  part  of  your 
race's  existence  than  ever  before;  your  time  will 
expand  toward  being  all  time,  and  the  individaal 
man  will  make  quite  a  little  stride  unto  becoming 
the  universal  man  —  really  his  ultimate  end. 

I  am  now  quite  comfortably  lodged    at  the  inn 


106  BOME. 

called  the  Three  Kings  in  the  Eternal  City, 
which  gives  food  enough  for  reflection.  When 
I  arrived,  I  sauntered  down  the  first  street,  the 
first  object  I  came  upon  was  the  famous  Column 
of  Trajan,  On  all  sides  are  aatiquities,  ruins, 
churches,  works  of  art;  one  wishes  for  a  dozen 
lives  wherein  to  accomplish  a  little  labor.  The 
carnival  is  at  its  height,  but  it  does  not  amount 
to  much  this  year ;  the  recent  death  of  the  Pope 
and  also  that  of  the  King,  Victor  Emanuel,  have 
caused  the  papal  and  governmental  authorities 
to  assume  the  show  of  mourning,  for  it  is  hardly 
more  than  a  show.  Still  there  are  many  masques 
in  the  streets,  the  people  must  have  their  festi- 
val; singing  is  heard  everywhere,  with  dancing 
on  the  pavement  to  the  guitar  and  tambour- 
ine-—  in  fact  the  Roman  population  both  old  and 
young    is  just  now    trying  to  jump    out    of    its 

skin. 

7?ome,  March  6th,  1878. 

By  this  heading  you  will  see  where  I  am — 1 
have  atlast  arrived  at  the  grand  destination  of  my 
journey.  My  room  is  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
the  Column  of  Trajan,  near  the  Mamertine  Prison 
which  goes  back  to  the  time  of  the  Roman 
Kings,  opposite  to  the  Palazzo  di  Venezia — -in 
fact  one  can  not  walk  five  minutes  in  any  direc- 
tion without  stumbhng  on  remarkable  antiquities 
belonging  to  every  period  of  Rome.     Churches 


A   TOUR  /.V  EUROPE  107 

and  toiujilcs,  Christiuuity  and  IIeuthcnd(nn,  the 
Middle  Ages  and  the  Ancient  Aojcs  are  here 
tumbled  together  pellinell,  and  I  feel  that  mueh 
time  will  he  retjuired  to  disentangle  the  mass  and 
place  its  manifold  and  diverse  parts  into  har- 
nionv-  The  tir.--t  impression  is  stupefying;  I 
walked  through  the  city  a  man  literally  stunned  — 
which  state  is  not  favorable  to  thought.  Only 
yesterday  I  saw  the  Flavian  Amphitheater  —  an 
ordinary  mortal  can  only  keep  silent  in  the  pres- 
ence of  such  a  stupendous  structure.  Its  immense 
mass  of  stone  })resscs  with  its  wei<^ht  upon  the 
soul;  spirit  here  feels  gravitation.  I  positively 
ran  away  from  it,  for  it  was  a  monster  terrible 
to  beliold  merely  on  account  of  its  magnitude, 
and  I  was  unwilling  to  trust  m3\self  inside  of  its 
jaws.  Hereafter  I  shall  try  to  banish  my  fear 
and  if  possible  to  knit  a  friendship  with  this 
Titanic  edifice,  for  it  is  certainly  one  of  the  most 
colossal  symbols  by  which  a  nation  has  yet  under- 
taken to  express  itself.     What  can  it  mean? 

Another  structure  which  makes  the  soul  sjjlit 
with  its  bigness  is  the  ruins  of  the  so-called 
Basilica  of  Constantine.  The  view  of  these 
mighty  arches  produces  positive  pain,  simply  by 
the  way  in  which  they  stretch  the  mind  trying  to 
surround  them  and  to  take  them  in  No  sight 
upon  our  earth,  I  imagine,  is  equal  to  that  which 
is  offered  to  the  eye  from  the  Roman  Forum  to 
the  Flavian  Amphitheater,  a  distance  of  not  more 


108  BOME. 

than  four  or  five  squares.  Here  antiquity  was 
concentrated  as  it  were  in  a  point,  here  is  its 
most  powerful,  if  not  its  most  beautiful  expres- 
sion. The  massive  masonry,  everywhere  forti- 
fied with  open  and  concealed  arches,  gives  the 
best  idea  of  Roman  Spirit,  of  the  strength  and 
solidity  of  the  Roman  Nation  —  a  structure 
which  springs  from  the  same  inner  principle  as 
Roman  edifices. 

Then  the  churches  of  Rome  —  but  I  am  not 
going  to  write  you  a  treatise  on  archaeology.  I 
must  only  say  that  I  have  not  yet  seen  the  inside  of 
St.  Peter's.  The  three  days  that  I  have  been  here 
I  have  spent  in  walking  about  the  city  in  order 
to  fix  its  topography  firmly  in  the  mind.  I  begin 
to  have  a  faint  apparition  of  old  Rome  seated  on 
her  seven  hills,  an  aged  ghost  in  cerements  still 
haunting  and  refusing  to  quit  the  scene  of  her 
ancient  triumphs.  My  habitation  lies  in  the 
valley  between  the  Esquiline  and  Capitoline,  and 
as  I  ascend  these  hills  on  either  side  of  me  re- 
flecting upon  the  cause  of  this  stupendous  ruin, 
I  fancy  I  can  hear  her  drapery  rustling  in  the 
wind  while  her  voice  whispers  in  my  ear: 
Son  of  the  last-born  of  nations,  go  tell  thy 
countrymen  that  I  perished  because  I  fulfilled  not 
Justice  —  I  am  but  repaid  with  my  own  —  I  de- 
stroyed the  world  and  was  destroyed  myself  — 
love  thy  neighbor  and  thy  neighboring  nation 
as  thyself  and  thy  nation. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE  109 

Home,  March  7th,  1878. 

Yes,  Italian  Literatwre  must  Iiave  a  share  of  nij 
time  —  it  is  a  Literature  Avliicli  I  have  been  soiue- 
whatacquaintc'd  with  now  for  a  good  many  years  ; 
Hove  it  exceedingly  aud  must  ivy  here  to  absorb 
some  of  its  st^)irit  iiato  my  soul.  Already  I  have 
purchased  a  copy  of  the  "Jerusalem  Deliv- 
ered," whose  beautj'  has  long  entranced  me,  at  a 
distance  however;  I  have  never  been  able  yet  to 
give  it  a  complete  reading.  The  drama  in  this 
city  does  not  look  very  prosperous  —  but  I  know 
too  little  about  it  to  say  anything  yet. 

On  my  way  from  Turin  hither  I  brushed 
agamst  the  typical  Italian  woman  —  that  is,  the 
type  of  a  certam  class.  She  was  past  middle 
age  and  had  once  been  beautiful;  but  every  line 
on  her  face  led  back  to  one  central  trait  of  char- 
acter, namely  pride.  Her  dress  was  careful  but 
not  elegant  —  also  showed  cleanliness  everywhere, 
which  is  n(jt  an  Italian  virtue  of  the  lower 
classes.  I  took  her  to  be  of  aristocratic  family 
but  decayed  in  fortune;  that  immense  reserve  of 
pride  in  which  the  very  muscles  of  her  face 
seemed  to  be  set,  could  hardly  be  accounted  for 
otherwise.  Pride  must  have  existed  first,  and 
then  have  been  put  to  the  test  sorely  to  manifest 
such  a  strong  development.  I  dared  try  mv 
Italian  upon  her,  and  was  surprised  at  her  high 
educational  attainments. 


110  EOME 

At  one  of  the  stations  a  flower-girl  entered  our 
coach  already  pretty  full;  she  was  laden  with 
flower-pots  and  nosegays  with  which  she  was 
struggling  while  trying  to  get  by  the  passengers. 
I  sprang  forward  and  aided  her,  packed  away  her 
bundles,  made  the  pe()i)le  give  room,  and  offered 
the  maid  a  seat  beside  myself.  One  of  her  un- 
lucky bundles  however  fell  down  upon  my  Italian 
lady  of  decayed  nobility  —  you  ought  to  have 
seen  that  face  then  !  The  pride  of  three  centuries 
seemed  to  glare  out  of  her  countenance  at  once, 
it  was  enough  to  make  any  man  quake  with  the 
fear  of  an  explosion.  The  poor  flower  girl  ex 
cased  herself  humbly  and  the  sterm-eloud  sul- 
lenly rolled  away  without  coming  to  an  outburst. 
But  that  face ! 

Having  now  a  maiden  in  the  bloom  of  youth  at 
my  side  and  sweet-scented  flowers  m  front  of  me, 
I  was  happy  —  1  felt  nn  self  to  be  in  a  kind  of 
Paradise,  to  be  an  Adam  with  his  Eve  in  the 
garden  of  Eden.  I  regarded  myself  at  liberty  to 
begin  a  conversaticm  with  her  on  account  of  my 
services  rendered  in  her  need  ;  but  alas  !  I  could 
not  understand  her  dialect  nor  could  she  under- 
stand my  Italian.  So  I  had  mainly  to  enjoy  the 
fragrance  of  my  situati(m,  amid  the  human  and 
the  natural  flowers.  But  after  some  time  we 
made  out  to  communicate,  creating  a  kind  of 
Lingua  franca  between  us.  She  was  of  humble 
class,    though  respectably  dressed;   she  had  an 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE .  1 1  1 

artless  coquetry  which  amused  me  much,  she  did 

Dot  wish  me  to  desist  from  the  pursuit  nor  did 

she    want  me  to  pursue  too  closely.     She  blew 

hot  and  cold  in  a  naive  fashion ;  as  if  to  destroy 

my  hopes,  she  told    me  that  she  was  married; 

then  as  if  to    entice  nie  more,  she  said  that  she 

was    only    eighteen  and    that  her  husband    had 

been  absent  a  good  while  in  America  ;  but  as  if  to 

keep  me    off  again,  she  declared  that  she  had  a 

boy  two  3'ears  and  a  half  old,  and  she  showed  a 

new  hat  for  him  in  one  of  her  bundles;   then,  to 

inspire  my  hopes,  she  said  that  she  was  fond  of 

dancing  and    had  been  at  the  ball  the  night  be- 
es c 

fore.  So  she  went  on  chattering,  somewhat  in- 
distinctly at  first  but  quite  plainly  at  last.  Of 
course  1  provoked  her  answers  to  a  great  extent, 
telling  her  that  I  was  from  America,  that 
Americans  like  the  Italians,  especially  the  Italian 
women,  that  many  come  to  Italy  for  their 
wives,  that  I  might  take  back  a  spouse  with  me, 
etc.  Arrived  at  her  destination  she  descended 
from  the  coach,  giving  me  the  bow  of  the  peas- 
ant girl,  hearty  but  ungainly. 

But  my  decayed  Italian  Countess  who  was  sit- 
ting just  opposite  to  me,  was  evidently  somewhat 
scandalized  by  my  familiarity  with  such  low 
people  —  she  could  only  look  on  them  with  dis- 
dain. Still  she  seemed  to  feel  that  I  was  in  some 
respects  at  least  her  peer,  and  we  again  knit  to- 
gether   the    raveled  edge  of   our  conversation. 


112  HOME. 

This  democratic  spirit  which  can  descend  to  the 
humblest  or  mount  to  the  highest  rank,  and  still 
always  be  itself,  is  perhaps  of  American  growth 
alone ;  for  the  American  hates  the  noble  as  little 
as  he  despises  the  peasant;  he  is  indeed,  in  his 
true  manifestation,  a  higher  synthesis  of  these 
two  European  classes  of  society,  in  which  their 
hostility  is  harmonized. 

The  governments  here  are  expected  to  take  care 
of  the  people  like  babies;  man  is  not  supposed  to 
know  how  to  take  care  of  himself  except  within 
a  very  narrow  circle.  The  passengers  are  shut 
up  in  the  coaches  from  which  one  has  almost  no 
liberty  of  exit  without  the  sujiervision  of  a  guard. 
I  leaped  on  a  train  which  was  just  beginning  to 
move,  and  the  result  was  I  received  a  good  scold- 
ing from  an  official  for  my  remarkable  audacity, 
though  I  had  done  the  same  thing  a  thousand 
times  in  America,  and  had  seen  everybody  do  it 
there  without  comment.  The  habit  is  not  a 
good  one,  I  confess,  but  great  Caesar!  what  a 
fuss  over  a  little  matter.  The  American  presup- 
position is,  you  are  an  intelligent  and  rational 
being;  if  you  use  an  instrument,  you  must 
know  its  danger  —  if  you  ride  on  the  railroad,  you 
are  to  understand  its  limits  ;  your  life  is  your  own, 
destroy  it  by  stupidity  if  you  will.  Man  must 
live  in  Europe,  man  must  live  rational  and  free 
in  America. 

Another  fact  in  this  comparison  of  continents 


A  TO UR  IN  E  UBOPE  1 1 3 

has  strongly  impressed  itself  upon  my  mind ; 
Europe  has  by  no  means  as  fully  Citilized  those 
two  greatest  implements  of  modern  civilization, 
the  printing-press  and  the  railroad,  as  America. 
Perhaps  the  same  thing  may  be  said  of  the  tele- 
graph, as  intercontinental  cables  were  first  an 
American  enterprise.  The  broadest  and  truest 
application  of  former  inventions  as  well  as  the 
gift  of  new  inventions  seems  to  belong  to  our 
country  —  our  destiny  at  present  drives  toward 
the  mastery  over  Nature  through  mechanical 
appliances.  To  a  lady  that  was  jesting  with  me 
about  our  being  savages,  I  replied  that  her  sex 
had  received  the  present  of  an  additional  life  at 
least,  in  the  labor  saved  by  the  American  sewing 
machine;  nay,  at  this  moment,  said  I,  we  are 
crossing  the  ocean  on  the  brains  of  an  Ameri- 
can  inventor,  Eobert  Fulton.  But  in  all  that 
concerns  the  Past  with  its  immense  heritage  of 
art  and  culture  Europe  is  far,  far  ahead. 

Your  letter  has  Just  been  put  into  my  hands, 
it  comes  to  me  like  a  sunburst  from  across  the 
Atlantic  ;  I  feel  now  full  of  light  after  an  obscur- 
ation of  more  than  two  months.  Everything 
you  said  was  welcome,  but  particularly  gratify- 
ing was  the  news  about  the  little  girl  for  whom 
my  heart-strings  have  been  quivering  the  past 
few  days. 

Concerning  the  character  you  mention,  I  would 
not  judge  harshly,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  her 

8 


114  BOME, 

leading  trait  is  that  she  regards  herself  as  too 
good  for  the  world  and  altogether  too  good  for 
any  man.  Such  a  spirit  is  capable  of  great  de- 
votion and  nobleness  in  certain  directions,  but  is 
incapable  of  the  Family.  In  fact,  a  person  of 
this  nature  ought  to  abjure  the  world  and  mar= 
riage  and  enter  a  cloister,  which  was  made  just 
for  souls  who  can  find  on  our  earth  no  reality 
for  their  ideal  strivings.  When  the  breach  be= 
tween  the  Real  and  the  Ideal  is  declared  to  be 
impassable,  there  results  a  state  of  permanent 
unhappiness,  indeed  of  mental  sickness,  for 
which  the  future  world  promises  a  curco  The 
only  question  is,  can  the  person  have  faith  in 
that  promise?  If  SO5  then  to  a  nunnery,  "get 
thee  to  a  nunnery,  and  be  not  a  breeder  of  sin- 
ners." Yet  at  bottom  such  a  spirit  rests  upon  a 
colossal  egotism  —  I  am  too  good  for  the  world, 
too  good  for  my  species. 

What  you  say  about  the  reception  of  my  book 
at  my  home,  is  pretty  much  what  I  expected,  as 
you  will  attest.  I  had  myself  observed  in  the 
notices  received  from  certain  well-known  indi- 
viduals that  they  were  very  guarded  in  their 
written  statements,  though  some  of  them  had 
already  expressed  to  me  personally,  without  the 
least  solicitation  on  my  part,  the  warmest,  in 
fact  extravagant,  admiration.  Not  that  they 
have    grown  cold,   or  are  hypocritical;   they  do 


A  TOUli  IN  EUROPE.  115 

not  want  to  commit  themselves  in  the  presence 
of  the  public. 

Eome,  Maroli  10,  1878, 

On  the  first  of  March  I  entered  Italy  by  Mount 
Cenis.  I  have  been  in  the  city  now  just  one 
week,  and  am  already  filled  so  full  that  it  would 
seem  to  require  a  year  to  digest  what  I  have 
taken  into  my  cranium.  History,  particularly 
ancient  History  assumes  a  new  face  here,  and 
one  feels  that  he  must  work  over  again  all  that 
he  has  done  in  the  past,  as  well  as  learn  many 
things  now  dreamed  of  at  a  distance.  Already 
I  have  thought  of  Latin  Poets  and  Historians  to 
bo  read  anew  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  Roman 
light —  l)ut  the  plan  is  impossible,  too  much  is  too 
much.  I  never  was  very  devoted  to  Latin  Liter- 
ature ;  but  at  present,  seated  amid  these  Roman 
monuments  I  have  an  intense  desire  to  renew  the 
acquaintances  of  my  college  years.  The  ruins  of 
Rome  have  a  strange  spell  over  the  soul ;  they 
compel  a  person  to  listen  to  their  voice,  while 
they  put  urgent  questions  to  his  mind.  What 
can  it  all  mean?  What  was  the  character  of  the 
people  who  reared  such  structures,  and  what  did 
they  mean  thereby?  Modern  Italy  does  not  yet 
exist  for  me,  though  she  too,  fair  lady,  is  not  to 
be  slighted,  but  is  to  be  courted  and  lovedo 

So   Spring  and  Italy,  twin    daughters  of  the 
Sun,  have  smiled  upon  me,  both  together.     The 


116  BOMlE. 

one  indeed  was  an  absent  friend,  whose  return 
was  expected,  but  the  other  was  a  dream  which 
long  refused  to  settle  down  into  hard  reality. 
The  presence  of  the  ruined  Past  in  its  mightiest 
shapes  throws  over  the  whole  city  a  dome  of 
cloudland,  beneatli  which  life  is  at  least  half 
made  up  of  imagination.  Can  anybody  walk 
through  the  old  Roman  Forum  without  restoring 
all  its  temples  and  seeing  the  crowd  which 
surged  throuoh  the  streets  or  louno;ed  about  the 
porticoes?  A  person  without  imagination  had 
better  go  home  where  also  a  pile  of  rocks  may 
be  found. 

Still  there  is  a  present  here  —  I  stepped  into  it 
while  walkino;  around  into  a  corner  to  view  a  beau- 
tiful  Corinthian  column.  A  very  modern  odor 
often  ascends  into  the  nostrils  from  the  earth  as 
the  head  is  thrown  up  toward  the  clouds.  Near, 
if  not  over  the  temple  of  Julius  Caesar,  the  greatest 
name  which  Eome  has  transmitted,  is  a  stithy; 
perhaps  his  statue  lies  down  there  in  the  cesspool, 
befouled  daily  with  the  sewage  of  his  modern 
countrymen.  Is  not  this  a  symbol?  Along  the 
Forum  where  walked  the  proudest,  bravest,  and 
richest  men  that  ever  lived,  the  conquerors  of 
the  world,  now  sit  Roman  beggars  sunning  them- 
selves—  men,  women,  and  children  I  have  met. 
Indeed  the  smaller  they  are,  the  closer  they 
stick,  like  vermin  —  a  little  girl  chased  me  all 
around  the  Forum  and  had  a  baby  in  her  arms 


A  TCUR  IX  EUROPE.  117 

too;  it  would  have  been  cheaper  to  have  bought 
her  off  with  a  soldo,  but  I  wanted  to  see  what 
she  would  do.  Still  I  must  say  that  begging 
is  at  present  not  greater  here  than  in  some  other 
countries;  certainly  it  has  not  annoyed  me  very 
much,  rather  I  have  gotten  some  amusement  out 
of  it. 

Friday  I  Avent  out  to  the  Colosseum- — the  sec- 
ond time  since  I  have  been  here.  What  a  host 
of  thoughts,  all  too  big  for  utterance,  were  ex- 
cited by  this  structure!  Language  has  too 
small  moulds  wherein  to  pour  the  swollen 
emotions  at  its  grandeur.  Still  ideas  must  be 
expressed,  but  I  shall  have  to  wait  till  I  have 
pared  them  down  into  some  shape.  So  much 
seems  to  be  now  worded  within  me :  The  Colos- 
seum is  the  best  visible  symbol  that  we  have  of 
the  old  Roman  Imperial  Spirit.  Its  history,  its 
form,  its  size,  even  its  present  condition,  are  a 
tongue  which,  rightly  understood,  utters  the 
principle  and  declares  the  fate  of  ancient  Rome. 
The  Sybilline  oracle  is  here  —  but  to  read  it! 

I  am  much  bound  to  you  for  your  very  friendly 
letter,  though  I  could  not  make  any  use  of  its 
suggestions,  as  1  had  taken  quarters  before  re- 
ceiving it.  Nor  has  my  time  permitted  me  to 
see  any  of  the  agreeable  people  whom  you  men- 
tion;  but  there  is  no  hurry,  as  my  stay  will  be 
protracted.  This  is  Sunday  afternoon,  which  I 
always    used    to    spend    with   you-     How    nnich 


118  HOME, 

pleasure  would  it  give  me  now  to  be  under  your 
roof !  Those  visits  form  a  happy  part  of  my 
life.  I  can  never  forget  the  glad  reception 
which  I  was  sure  to  meet  with  at  your  threshold. 


Borne,  March  llih,  1878. 

I  have  had  another  small  misfortune,  more 
vexatious  than  dangerous,  which  I  want  to  tell 
you  about,  and  then  get  rid  of  it  together  with 
the  petty  chagrin.  Just  as  I  was  entering  the 
dining-room  of  mv  hotel,  I  whirled  around  and 
my  hand  struck  a  large  pane  of  glass  in  the  door, 
the  glass  was  shivered  and  my  hand  was  cut  in  a 
dozen  phices.  It  bled  profusely  so  that  I  could 
not  use  my  knife  an^  fork  at  dinner.  I  also  paid 
three  francs  for  the  window  pane  and  had  my  own 
pain  for  nothing.  A  room  full  of  people  were 
aroused  by  the  shattered  glass,  and  their  stare  I 
had  to  face  down  ;  then  my  explanations  had  to  be 
given  in  bad  Italian,  rendered  worse  by  embar- 
rassment. A  pretty  mess  of  vexatious  circum- 
stances = —  an  ice-bath  to  the  red-hot  ardor  of  the 
traveler.  So  Fortune  has  been  testing  me  ever 
since  I  came  across  the  boundaries  of  Italy,  try- 
ing to  worry  me  with  petty  spite.  Shakespeare 
somewhere  calls  her  a  strumpet,  but  I  prefer  to 
call  her  a  pole-eat,  showering  upon  a  man  streams 
which  do  not  hurt,  but  do  annoyc     An  American 


A  TOUR  IN  EUEOPE.  119 

reminiscence   is  this,  you  will  say,  in  the  clas- 
sic land. 

But  I  have  just  seen  the  Capitoline  Venus 
who  gave  me  abundant  consolation  for  my  little 
trouble.  She  occupies  a  small  room  in  the  fa- 
mous Capitoline  Museum  quite  alone;  as  she  is 
undressing  for  the  bath,  one  sees  the  necessity 
of  her  having  things  pretty  much  to  herself.  I 
went  into  her  chamber,  the  sole  spectator  of  her 
divine  perfections;  she  seemed  to  be  aware  of 
my  taking  a  peep  at  her  undraped  beauty,  for 
there  was  a  slight  coquettish  smile  on  her  lips 
as  she  looked  a  little  to  the  side  of  me ;  indeed, 
she  appeared  not  all  averse  to  seeing  a  person  of 
so  much  gravity  regard  her  so  long  and  so  in- 
tensely. She  pretends  to  be  modest,  but  it  is 
mere  pretense ;  she  hides  her  charms  but  at  heart 
wants  to  be  seen ;  certainly  she  showed  to  me  no 
indignation  for  having  dared  to  intrude  upon  her 
privacy.  Another  man  entered  the  room,  I  felt 
distressed  and  desired  to  be  alone  ■ —  such  a  sisht 
is  not  for  four  eyes.  But  when  a  French  woman 
came  in  and  burst  into  raptures  over  the  beautiful 
statue,  I  felt  the  dissonance  go  through  me  — 
no  woman  ought  to  find  pleasure  in  such  a 
theme  and  in  such  a  treatment,  and  she  is  in 
danger  of  writing  herself  down  as  a  Venus  if 
she  does.  1  was  much  amused  at  a  man  of  about 
fifty  years  and  his  wife ;  both  came  in  together, 
she  glanced  at  the  statue,  and  with  true  feminine 


120  SOME 

instinct  left  the  room,  not  without  gmng  her 
husband  a  twitch  to  follow  ?  but  he  stayed  till 
she  came  back  and  dragged  him  outo  How  dif= 
ferent  the  parting  look  which  each  gave  the 
marble  Goddess  !  The  old  fellow  seemed  to  let 
himself  out  of  his  eyes ;  the  wifeg  already  j< 
ous,  glanced  a  ourse    at  the  fascinating  marl 

I  have  served  my  apprenticeship  at  eating  mac= 
aroni,  and  I  like  the  dish,  but  I  have  now  and 
then  found  such  a  drawback  that  even  my  ca8t= 
iron  stomach  refused  to  sympathize  with  th© 
food.  The  general  living  is  good  and  cheap 
here,  theugh  it  is  said  that  prices  have  much  ad= 
vanced  within  a  few  years c  I  have  a  long  Roman 
bill  of  fare  in  my  pocket,  many  of  the  names  of 
dishes  on  it  cannot  be  found  in  the  Italian  Dic= 
tionary,  but  belong  to  the  Eoman  dialect„  I 
have  gone  through  the  whele  listg  ordering  things 
of  which  I  had  not  the  remotest  idea,  just  to  see 
what  the  people  ate.  Once  or  twice  only  have 
1  been  unable  to  clear  the  plattero 

I  mingle  among  the  people  frequently  and  try 
to  catch  their  way  of  looking  at  thingSj  but  their 
dialect  is  a  great  obstruction o  Here  Iia  the  Hotel 
I  chatter  with  the  servants  at  odd  times,  and 
many  a  little  characteristic  comes  to  light  in  this 
way.  One  of  them  = — a  man  forty  years  old — 
always  when  he  sees  me  expresses  the  wish  to  be 
the  possessor  of  2,000  lire  (less  than  400  dol= 
lars),    which    sum    appears    to  him    a  fortune 


A  TO UR  /AT  E  UR OPE.  121 

"Well,  what  would  you  do  if  you  had  it?" 
"  Get  iiiariiod."  Thoio  is  the  whole  love  story, 
probably;  the  fair  one  is  refractory  and  refuses 
to  enter  wedlock  without  a  metallic  basis  to 
stand  on,  which  the  ])oor  devil  of  a  cameriere 
cannot  provide.  America  they  seem  to  regard 
as  a  sort  of  moonland  filled  with  fantastic  won- 
ders. One  of  them  asked  me  if  there  were  any 
churches  in  America.  1  told  him  there  were. 
Then  he  wanted  to  know  if  they  were  beautiful. 
Italian  isn't  it?  First  a  church,  then  a  beautiful 
church  are  necessities.  A  church  within  himself, 
a  portable  church  he  does  not  possess :  his  re- 
ligion he  can  get  only  through  his  senses.  How 
many  illustrations  of  this  fact  do  we  not  see  in 
this  city  !  The  church  is  the  great  supporter  of 
Art ;  the  intimate  connection  between  the  two  is 
most  remarkable,  one  can  notrealize  this  relation 
in  Protestant  countries  where  Art  is  for  the  most 
part  mere  dillettantism  or  even  a  fashion.  But 
here  Religion  and  Art  are  connected  by  the  um- 
bilical cord,  nay  more,  they  pass  into  each  other 
insensibly,  like  the  Siamese  twins.  It  becomes 
clear  that  the  Roman  Church  reaches  devotion 
through  the  sensuous  nature  of  man,  and  is  cal- 
culated for  sensuous  peoples;  thus  it  furnishes  a 
great,  a  noble  elevation  from  the  sensual  to  the 
spiritual.  Its  value  can  hardly  be  overestimated 
.in  this  dire(;tioii,  it  is  truly  a  popular  religion. 
But  on  the  other  side  it  is  wanting.     The  devo- 


122  BOME. 

tion  which    comes  from  the  rational  nature  of 
man,  the  true  piety  of  the  intellect,  it  but  par- 
tially fosters.    The  Religion  which  descends  from 
the  Intellect  is  not  the  Catholic,  which  on  the 
contrary  ascends  from  the  senses.     Here  Art  is 
its  handmaid,  iiidispensjble  indeed,  elevating  the 
passions  into  the  realm  of  truth  and  universality. 
Human  love  becomes  divine  love,  thus  Religion 
makes  the  saintly  character ;  that  is,  it  brings  about 
the  complete  purification  of  the    senses.     That 
the  Catholic  Religion  produces  this  effect  upon 
character,  especially  upon  female  character,  has 
doubtless    come   under  your  observation.     The 
two  whitest  souls  that  I  have  known  are  Catholic 
women,  too  white,  one  almost  thinks,  too  little 
color  for  health,  not  enough  of  life-blood  which 
is  red.     But  they  are  beautiful  to  me.     I  always 
thought  that  Goethe's  Sclione  8eele  ought  to  have 
been  a  Catholic  —  mine  certainly  shall  be,  when  I 
write  her.  Still  Goethe'screationhas  a  Protestant 
development — from  the  inner  to  the  outer,  from 
a  pureh  subjective  religious  emotion  to  Art  and 
Nature.     The  Catholic  spirit  develops  in  the  re- 
verse way  from  Nature  through  Art  to  Religion. 
Such    at  least  are  my  present  reflections  upon 
this  subject. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  what  a  life  of  primitive 
needs  is  found  here,  though  on  every  side  the 
past  gigantic  instrumentalities  of  refined  luxury 
are  lying   unused  or  in  ruins.     Rome  of  all  the 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE.  123 

cities  in  the  world  is  richest  in  water,  but  uses  it 
the  least.     The  sewage  is  neglected,  the  streets 
are  dirty,  the  corners  and  alleys  seem  to  be  the 
dcspositories  of  refuse ;  of  a  rigid  policing  there  is 
little  sign.     In  fact  I  saw  children  doiug  the  un- 
sightly  right  in  St.  Peter's  under  the  nose  of  an 
old    pope,  with  his   two  fingers  raised,  blessing 
them  in   the    act  I  suppose.     Of  course  this  is 
by  no  means  permitted,  it  was  probably  unusual, 
but  it  shows  the    free    breedino:  of   those  who 
grow  up  in  the    shadows  of  the  great  cathedral 
of  the  world.     Yet  behold  the  ancient  aqueducts 
and  gigantic  sewers!     Modern  Rome  is  a  small 
living  picture  set  in  a  frame  of  colossal  ruins  — 
the  picture  has  little  or  no   idea  of   the  frame. 
Still,  even  the  people  may  often  be  designated 
by  the   same    image  —  the  human  body  is  fre- 
quently beautiful   and  indeed  majestic,  but  the 
soul  which  made  it  fled  two  thousand  years  ago. 
There  is  a  market  girl  —  her  face  is  perfect  in  its 
proportions,   but  it   is  dirty  like   some    antique 
head  of  a  Goddess  dug  out  of  the  earth  where  it 
has  lain  for  centuries.    I  think  I  can  see  the  form 
and  the  features  of  a  Roman  ladv  in  her  body  — 
but  not  the  spirit.     She  sits  or  rather  lies  tbe^'^ 
in  the  sun,  unwashed,  unkempt,  unpatched,  asK- 
ing  me  to  buy  a  half  penny's  worth  of  chestnuts. 
I  purchase  not  so  much  her  ware  as  a  good  long 
look  into  her  face.     So  too  of  men  one  beholds 
large  noble  figures,  but  see  what  they  have  made 


124  EOME. 

of  Rome  and  judge  of  their  character.  Not  the 
old  Eoman,  by  Jupiter  —  still  thus  might  Cato 
have  looked.  Is  this  body  then  more  enduring 
than  the  soul?  In  one  sense  it  seems  so — it 
may  be  transmitted  without  the  spirit.  So  the 
body  of  ancient  Rome  is  here  yet,  a  torso  to 
be  sure,  but  its  features  can  still  be  made  out. 

Sly  jests  on  priests,  popes,  saints,  even  on 
relio-ion,  peep  out  often,  sometimes  amusingly. 
Many  signs  of  wineshops  read:  8paccio  divino; 
that  is  a  pun  on  divino  and  di  vino.  It  occurs 
so  often  that  it  must  be  intended,  while  other 
sio"ns  have  the  di  and  the  vino  in  different  letters 
on  different  lines.  These  are  the  clergy's  resorts 
possibly. 

Rome,  March  12th,  1878. 

When  I  arrived  here  and  found  no  letter  from 
you  or  from  anybody  else  —  I  began  to  think  that 
I  was  already  forgotten  in  St.  Louis.  I  know 
how  rapid  the  time-current  is  there,  indeed  it  is 
not  a  current  but  a  maelstrom  compared  to  that 
of  easy-going  Italy.  Several  letters  have  since 
arrived,  though  by  no  means  all  which  are  due 
me.  Judge  then  of  my  pleasure  when  an  en- 
velope with  the  pestmark  of  St.  Louis,  was  put 
into  my  hands;  but  more  than  treble  was  my 
delight  when  said  envelope  gave  birth  to  three 
letters  instead  of  one — the  happy  mother  of 
triplets.  I  have  read  the  letters  through  twice  — 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  125 

the  first  time  with  eager  precipitation,  the  second 
time  with  deliberate  care,  weighing  every  sen- 
tence. I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  be  able  to 
give  an  answer  to  all  that  is  said  in  them  —  but 
I  may  say  that  they  are  written  in  a  good  sunny 
humor  which  is  delightful,  and  which  can  not  be 
answered  —  especially  by  a  man. 

Mention  is  made  of  a  severe  criticism  on  my 
Shakespeare  book  in  a  New  York  newspaper. 
This  recalls  to  me  the  fact  alas  I  that  I  am  an 
author —  a  fact  which  I  had  almost  forgotten 
when  I  read  that  passage  of  your  letter;  for  be- 
tween the  present  and  my  past  life  a  chasm  is 
opening — an  Atlantic  ocean  is  lying  between 
where  I  am  and  where  1  was.  This  change,  as 
I  may  call  it,  begins  to  make  me  look  with  some 
disfavor  on  things  which  1  have  written  hitherto, 
so  that  I  feel  more  callous  than  ever  to  literary 
defamation.  Still,  not  without  sympathy  do  I 
look  back  from  here  on  that  poor  book  of  mine 
which  I  left  behind  —  an  infant  abandoned  by 
the  parent  at  its  birth  and  exposed  to  death  by 
starvation  on  the  Great  American  Desert.  But 
this  is  not  all;  it  must  still  further  receive  every 
kind  of  blow,  stab,  cut  —  every  manner  of 
pinching,  pounding,  gouging,  from  the  secret 
thrusts  of  its  pretended  friends  to  the  open  as- 
saults of  avowed  enemies.  Rather  ought  its 
condition  to  excite  compassion  than  abuse;  you, 
1  know,  pity  it  from  the  bottom  of  your  hearts. 


126  HOME. 

In  regard  to  myself  who  am  the  unfeeling  parent, 
I  can  only  say  that  I  had  never  befoi^  so  fully 
pictured  the  situation,  but  now  I  see  it  vividly. 
Still  do  not  think  for  a  moment  that  I  am  going 
to  turn  a!^ide  from  my  journey  and  hasten 
home  —  I  shall  not  leave  Italy  because  my  brat 
happens  to  get  a  spanking  in  America  —  in  fact 
the  squalling  and  kicking  which  it  produces  all 
around  itself  is  a  good  sign  of  vitality.  So  I 
comfort  myself  and  think  about  other  matters. 

You  all  speak  of  a  pleasant  trip  to  Europe 
made  in  one  evening  by  means  of  the  stereepti- 
can.  You  perhaps  saw  the  very  spot  on  which 
I  am  lodged  —  some  of  the  most  notable  antiq- 
uities of  Kome  are  right  around  me  —  the  column 
of  Trajan  a  few  rods  on  one  side,  the  Pantheon 
a  little  further  on  the  other  side,  the  Roman 
Forum  nearly  behind  me ;  the  Corso,  the  liveliest 
street  of  modern  Rome,  lies  not  far  to  the  front. 
To  be  in  the  presence  of  these  monuments  of 
ages  long  gone  by  is  a  new  experience  ;  of  course 
no  representation  can  adequately  express  the 
works  themselves.  The  question  which  I  always 
have  to  ask  of  them  is —  What  mean  ye  here? 
It  is  impossible,  for  me  at  least,  to  think  other- 
wise than  that  every  product  of  man  is  an  utter- 
ance —  an  utterance  more  or  less  distinct,  of  his 
soul.  A  human  being  must  utter  what  he  is, 
not  what  he  is  not;  ultimately  to  do  one  thing 
and  to  be  another  is  a  contradiction,  an  impossi- 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  127 

bility.  The  works  of  a  man  and  especially  the 
monuinents  of  a  great  peo[)le  constitute  a  hin- 
CLiaiJje  which  must  bo  deciphered  before  the  life 
and  character  can  be  understood.  They  write 
down  their  deepest  selves  in  these  monuments ; 
the  builders  meant  something  —  What  is  it? 
asks  the  traveler  amid  the  ruins  and  sits  down  on 
a  broken  column  to  listen  to  the  voices  hovering 
about  in  the  air. 

I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  can  not  at  first  un- 
derstand this  lanofuaGje,  and  I  have  to  learn  it 
almost  from  the  very  alphabet.  Previous  read- 
ing and  study  are  doubtless  helps,  but  they  can 
hardly  do  more  than  tell  you  that  such  things 
are  not  what  they  are.  For  the  monuments 
themselves  are  the  utterance,  and  the  only  ade- 
quate utterance;  just  they  and  nothing  else  were 
taken  to  express  the  spirit  of  an  individual,  of 
an  age,  of  a  nation.  Hence  they  must  be  read 
and  understood  in  their  own  native  dialect ;  no 
translation  can  possibly  take  their  place.  So  you 
can  imagine  what  I  am  doing  these  sunny  days 
in  Rome  —  I  lounsre  through  the  Forum,  or  the 
Palaces  of  the  Caesars  or  the  Colosseum,  not 
merely  trying  to  rebuild  these  structures  in  the 
imagination  —  which  is  also  a  very  necessary, 
but  easier  task  —  but  asking  the  to  me  far  more 
important  question.  What  did  they  mean  when 
built?  Why  construct  this  immense  triumphal 
Arch    in  which    not  a  spark    of  utility    can    be 


128  BOME. 

struck  out  anywhere?  Often  I  have  to  stand 
before  a  fragment  of  some  temple  for  hours  —  I 
know  that  it  says  something,  but  what  it  is,  I  can 
not  understand ;  so  I  wait  and  wait,  my  mind 
often  wanderins:  off  to  absent  ones  in  the  mean- 
while,  until  I  draw  it  back  across  the  ocean  and 
again  throw  it  "at  that  piece  of  marble ;  the  re- 
ward is  usually  a  glimmer,  seldom  a  sunburst, 
not  infrequently  the  mere  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing done  my  duty  to  the  monument. 

When  I  first  enter  any  one  of  these  colossal 
ruins,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  in  the  tower  of 
Babel  —  such  a  confusion  of  unintelligible 
tongues !  Every  object  appears  to  be  talking, 
yet  I  can  not  understand  what  it  says;  it  tries, 
nay  clamors  to  be  heard  —  for  why  was  it  put 
here,  if  not  to  tell  its  story?  The  first  time  I 
went  over  the  entire  Palatine  with  its  acres  of 
brick  solitudes,  the  impression  left  upon  me  was 
that  of  pain,  ray  head  rung  with  the  confused 
arches,  pillars,  passages.  The  whole  mountain 
resembles  a  huge  honeycomb  whose  cells  are  the 
rooms  and  halls  of  imperial  palaces.  As  one 
wanders  through  these  endless  labyrinths  in  their 
crossings  and  intertwinings,  story  above  story, 
he  cannot  help  thinking  that  here  is  a  symbol  of 
the  infinite  burrowings  and  gropings  of  that  big 
earth-worm  called  man.  But  I  do  not  know  even 
what  these  letters  of  stone  and  brick  spell,  much 
less  do  I  understand  their  full  speech ;   and  if   I 


A  TOUR  I.V  EUROPE.  129 

did,  I  could  not  iinptirt  it  to  you,  except  possibly 
in  some  very  remote  flashes,  their  language  being 
so  different  from  English.  My  time  has  been 
filled  with  effort — I  have  been  here  now  one 
week  and  more  —  yet  the  result  seems  small. 
And  no  wonder,  for  the  mass  which  thrusts  itself 
upon  the  mind  in  this  city  exceeds  belief.  The 
ancient,  middle  and  modern  ages  are  all  here, 
crowding  against  one  another  and  demanding 
attention.  I  walk  down  a  street,  here  they  come 
brushing  against  me  —  old  Rome,  the  Medieval 
Church,  and  new-born  Italy  —  all  attractive, 
divine,  but  pulling  me  till  I  do  not  know  which 
way  to  turn.  I  can  only  say  —  wait;  I  shall 
give  each  of  you  a  fair  hearing  before  I  leave  the 
city. 

Of  course  I  wish  you  all  were  with  me,  you 
would  not  be  in  the  way,  though  you  might  not 
want  to  follow  me  in  all  my  extravagances.  I 
have  often  wished  for  good  companions,  though 
I  avoid  the  travelers  here,  for  my  opinion  of 
them  as  a  body  is  not  high.  I  notice  them  in 
the  galleries,  museums  and  among  the  ruins  — 
they  rush  through,  evidently  trying  to  get  over 
as  much  space  as  possible  in  a  given  time  —  this 
is  their  great  problem.  They  come  not  to  see 
but  to  gape,  for  of  any  true  vision  in  a  single 
glance  at  a  great  work  it  is  absurd  to  speak. 
The  circulating  libraries  of  foreign  books  tell  the 
story  —  they    have    hardly    anything    else    but 

9 


130  BOME. 

novels,  regular  time-killers.  Most  people  seem  to 
flee  here  out  of  the  busy  world  where  they  are 
drones,  for  idleness — dolce  far  niente — is  also 
one  of  the  Italian  fine  arts.  Undoubtedly  there 
are  many  here  traveling  with  a  true  aim  and 
noble  industry  —  but  certainly  not  the  majority. 
I  am  afraid  our  country  furnishes  not  a  few 
people  who  are  injured  by  a  trip  across  the  ocean, 
as  it  swells  their  pretension  without  any  increase 
of  knowledge.  They  rush  through  what  they 
find  in  their  guide-book,  and  then  think  they 
have  seen  it  all.  Often  have  I  met  with  such 
folks  in  our  St.  Louis,  who  were  in  the  habit  of 
putting  down  any  argument  or  opinion  of  the  un- 
traveled  with  a  contemptuous  sneer,  saying, 
"Well,  I  have  been  in  Europe  and  seen  the 
original,  and  I  know."  Once  I  heard  a  gentle- 
man praising  a  spectacular  affair  gotten  up  for  a 
benevolent  object  by  some  young  ladies,  when  he 
rounded  off  with  the  following  statement,  appar- 
ently in  dead  earnest:  "  I  have  traveled  through 
Europe  and  seen  everything —  this  beats  it  all." 
Poor  fool,  he  would  have  been  better  off,  had  he 
stayed  at  home ;  he  would  have  known  just  as 
much  without  having  gotten  that  enormous  wen 
of  vanity.  I  recollect  of  having  myself  had  a 
discussion  with  a  lady  on  the  Laocoon,  to  which  I 
had  given  a  good  deal  of  study  from  what  I  now 
know  to  have  been  an  excellent  photograph  ;  she 
gave  an  answer  which  knocked  me  down:   "  But 


A  TOVR  IX  EUROPE.  131 

I  have  seen  the  statue  itself — what  right  to  a 
judgment  have  you,  who  have  not  seen  it?" 
Then  I  had  no  response,  but  now  I  would  be  able 
to  answer:  "  No,  Madame,  you  have  not  seen  it, 
you  think  you  have,  but  in  truth  you  have  not. 
What  you  saw  was  only  a  vain  outward  appear- 
ance hanging  in  the  air  —  a  mirage  deluding  the 
eye  with  empty  show.  You  did  not  see  the 
divine  conception  putting  on  its  garment  of 
marble,  you  did  not  commune  with  the  thought 
of  the  creative  artist  expressing  itself  in  stone. 
With  far  other  eye  than  that  of  flesh  must  this 
be  seen,  nor  is  it  to  be  acquired  by  a  feverish 
haste.  Doubtless  the  eye  with  its  external  vision 
is  very  necessary,  l)ut  it  is  merely  the  portal 
where  something  may  enter  through  unto  the 
soul ;  the  portal  is  not  the  temple  itself.  To  see 
truly  is  to  be  a  seer,  spirit  sees  spirit.  Madame, 
you  did  not  see  Laocoon,  you  saw  a  stone." 
That's  enough  transcendentalism  for  once,  I  hear 
you  all  cry  —  so  farewell. 

Bo7ne,  March  14th,  1878. 

I  could  not  imagine  why  I  received  no  letter 
from  you.  To-day  the  mystery  was  cleared  up; 
on  going  to  the  American  Legation,  I  found  that 
the  clerk  had  overlooked  the  letter  or  was  un- 
able to  read  the  address.  Now  I  have  it  though 
more  than  two  weeks  behind  time,  and  I  am  very 


132  ROME. 

Borry  that  I  did  not  receive  it  so  as  to  send  an 
answer  which  would  be  in  your  hands  by  this 
time.  But  very  welcome  it  is  thwugh  late,  and 
gives  much  gratifying  news  which  I  have  re- 
ceived from  no  other  source.  It  shows  that  you 
are  all  as  active  as  ever  this  winter,  and  that 
under  no  circumstances  your  striving  after  gen- 
uine culture  and  noble  living  will  relax. 

The  news  which  allays  most  my  disagreeable 
feelings  is  the  inference  from  your  letter  that 
my  book  may  possibly  pay  expenses  to  the  pub- 
lisher. I  suppose  that  I  never  believed,  in  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  that  it  would  sell,  though 
in  moments  of  exaltation  I  may  have  thought 
that  I  believed  so.  The  matter  does  not  often 
pass  through  my  mind,  but  when  it  does,  I  have 
almost  come  to  reproach  myself  for  ever  having 
offered  the  book  for  publication. 

To-day  is  the  festival  of  St.  Joseph  ;  I  went  to 
mass  at  St.  Peter's,  during  which  I  thought  of 
you  and  wished  you  were  at  my  side  to  tell  me 
what  all  that  elaborate  ceremony  signified.  I 
know  that  it  has  a  meaping  and  a  profound 
meaning,  otherwise  it  could  not  have  held  to- 
gether for  so  long  a  time  so  many  genuine  souls 
as  well  as  deep-thinking  intellects.  I  could  only 
look  •  upon  the  scene  with  astonishment,  but 
without  any  edification,  and  I  longed  for  some 
person  to  teach  me  at  least  the  alphabet  of  those 
mysterious  signs.     I  truly    wished    then    that  I 


A   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  133 

had    the  knowledge  of  the  poor    unlettered  lab- 
orer who  was  kneeling,  responding  to  the  service 
and  repeating  his  prayers  at  my  side.     Not  com- 
prehending the  dialect,  of    course  I  received  no 
communication;    sol    thought  to   myself:    Here 
is  another  great  fact  which  is  a  mystery  to  thee, 
and  which    thou,    here  in   Rome,    must    take  up 
into  thy  intellect  and  then  let  it  descend  into  thy 
feelings    and  even  sympathies.     For  I    felt  ex- 
cluded from  a  great  world  of  rich  experience  and 
high  culture;    here  is  the    best  opportunity  not 
only    for  understanding  its  expression  but   also 
for  realizing    the  worth  of  that   expression.     So 
I  suppose  that  before  long  I  shall  be  looking  into 
the   Roman  Breviary    and    perhaps    conning  its 
lessons;   at  least  I  nmst  do  somethinof  to    effect 
an  entrance  into  this  religious  world  around  me. 
But  do  not  imagine  by  this  language  that  I  am 
going  to  join  your  church ;  indeed  just  now  I  am 
far  more  a    Pagan  than    a    Catholic,    for  in   the 
temple  of  Paganism    I  can  worship  and  sympa- 
thize, because    I    know  it  better.     A    harsh  ex- 
pression   in  a    christian    age,    you  say?     No,  I 
hope  not  —  the  utterance   of  the    Divine  every 
where,  in  all  forms  and  in  all  climes,  one  should 
both  study  and  feel.     I  do    not    oppose    myself 
hereto  anything;   all  is  to  be  received,  and  if 
possible    absorbed.     To    stand    outside    of  the 
great    fact   before    his    eyes    and    fight    it    or 
despise    it,   is    the    very    worst    disposition    in 


134  BOME. 

t 

a  traveler.  Let  him  rather  take  it  up  into 
his  bosom  and  cherish  and  love  it  if  he  can; 
above  all  let  him  ponder  it  without  any  partiality, 
till  it  shall  have  revealed  itself  to  him  in  the  truth. 
I  take  it  that  nothins;  in  this  world  ever  did  or 
ever  will  tell  its  deepest  secret  to  an  enemy. 
Human  Nature  would  at  once  reject  any  such 
proposition, and  the  great  monuments  and  histori- 
cal facts  of  the  Past  might  not  be  so  violent  but 
would  be  more  reticent.  I  am  trying  to  tell  you 
in  what  spirit  I  seek  to  approach  the  study  of 
Rome ;  I  do  not  protest  against  anything,  I  am 
least  of  all  a  Protestant  in  the  narrow  sense  of 
the  word.  Rome  is  an  immense  colossus  be- 
striding Time — it  has  one  foot  on  antiquaity,  the 
other  on  the  Present;  for  twenty  centuries  the 
whole  world  from  every  point  of  the  compass 
has  turned  to  look  at  that  gigantic  shape  in  hope 
and  in  terror;  why  should  I  begin  to  pick  a  flaw 
in  the  nail  of  its  little  toe? 

A  few  days  ago  I  saw  the  Dying  Gladiator  in 
the  Capitoliue  Museum  —  a  very  remarkable  piece 
of  sculpture,  but  chiefly  celebrated  for  having 
inspired  what  I  deem  the  finest  bit  of  poetry  in 
the  works  of  Lord  Byron  beginning — 

I  see  before  me  the  Gladiator  lie. 

Great  as  the  statue  is,  it  is  surpassed  by  the 
poetry.  What  a  sweep  there  is  in  these  two 
stanzas!     They  clinch  together  the  Roman  Re- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  135 

public  ia  its  vigor  and  Roman  Empire  at  its 
death,  showing  the  guilty  deed  coming  homo  to 
the  nation  after  the  lapse  of  centuries.  It  is  a 
grand  Oceanic  swell  of  poetry,  yet  pointed  with 
the  keenest  logic,  and  its  thought  is  a  great  and 
terrible  one — national  retribution. 

But  this  Dying  Gladiator  is  said  to  be  a  Gaul 
who  is  not  ''butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holi- 
day,"but  commits  suicide.  So  some  of  most  recent 
critics  say — but  I  do  not  like  the  view,  the  inter- 
pertation  of  the  poet  has  sunk  too  deep  into  me. 
That  dying  form  must  forever  remain  a  symbol 
of  Heaven's  vengeuce  upon  Rome,  thus  it  repre- 
sents one  of  the  deepest,  most  tragic  facts  of 
History.  It  is  not  an  ideal  or  even  heroic  figure ; 
everything  indicates  the  coarse  man  of  Nature 
whose  power  is  not  mental  but  physical.  The 
central  point  in  which  to  grasp  the  idea  of 
the  work  is  the  difference  between  the  head 
and  body — the  head  droops,  is  dead,  while 
the  body  is  still  partially  erect,  refusing  to 
succumb.  That  is,  the  seat  of  physical  power 
is  stronger  and  more  tenacious  than  the  seat  of 
mental  power — braiu  dies  before  muscle.  More- 
over the  face  is  a  great  study — the  upper  part 
of  it  showing  the  most  intense  agony,  while  the 
lower  part  is  quite  calm,  manifesting  but  little 
emotion.  I  should  say  that  the  whole  effect  is 
physical  with  a  slight  self-suppression;  the  work 
represents  the    pain    of    merely    physical    death 


136  ROME. 

with  almost,  no  spiritual  self-c©ntrol.  It  is  the 
agony  of  dying  purely,  and  therefore  the  theme 
cannot  be  praised  however  wonderful  its  treat- 
ment. But  I  have  only  seen  the  sculptured  tor- 
ment once;  my  judgment  is  really  n©t  worthy  of 
being  heard  now ;  I  hope  I  shall  not  fall  into 
that  flippant  treatment  of  great  works  at  which 
I  have  been  so  often  indignant  when  seen  in 
other  people.  I  shall  to-morrow  go  again  and 
give  it  a  good  long  study. 

The  hand  of  reality  often  thrusts  itself  rudely 
between  my  thoughts,  prying  them  wide  open 
and  not  allowing  them  to  weld  together  again, 
indeed  tearing  them  till  they  bleed.  As  I  was 
looking  at  this  statue,  doubtless  with  feelings 
softened  by  the  view  of  so  much  pain,  three  little 
girls,  of  English  parentage  I  should  judge,  came 
in  accompanied  by  the  nurse.  They  were  all 
gracious  creatures,  but  dressed  in  mourning; 
my  eye  turned  away  from  the  statue  and  contin- 
ued to  rest  upon  the  youngest,  a  pretty  red- 
cheeked  little  maid.  Of  course  my  mind  rapidly 
flew  across  the  seas,  and  I  felt  my  heart  melt- 
ing within.  The  nurse  pointing  to  the  statue, 
said:  «' That  man  is  dying."  The  little  thing 
turned  around  from  a  group  with  her  sisters  and 
looked  with  a  long  gaze  as  if  to  probe  the  mean- 
ing of  death  —  then  said:  "  My  mamma  died 
too."  The  water  gushed  from  my  eyes  but  not 
on' account  of  the  Dying  Gladiator;  the  contem- 


A  TOUB  IN  EUBOPE.  137 

plation  of  Art  ended  for  that  day,  I  hurried  out 
and  took  a  long:  walk  beyond  the  walls  of  the 
city  that  I  might  kill  sorrow  with  physical  wear- 
iness. 

I  had  a  glorious  view  of  an  Italian  landscape, 
it  is  remarkable  how   such    a    prospect    soothes 
and    heals.     In    the    distance    were   the   Alban 
hills  with  the  long   sunny  plain   lying  between ; 
like  a  dreamy  wayfarer,  the  eye  travels  over  a 
broad  surface  of  green  fields  and  sunlight  till  a 
white    mountainous    barrier    arrests    its    course, 
while  the  blue  skies  are  suspended  above.     The 
whole  is   a  grand  pavilion  of  Nature,  decorated 
with  many  colors,  but  all  are  mild  and  soothing. 
The  soul  feeding  on  itself  is  drawn   outward  by 
the  beautiful  vision,  and  ceases   to   consume  its 
own  vitals.     Human  life,  I    exclaimed    to    my- 
self, ought  to  take  pattern  from  this  landscape, 
and  learn  from  Nature  a  lesson  ia  true    happi- 
ness.    After  a  long  journey  of  years,  w^andering 
through    a    sunlit    plain    in    which    passion    can 
make  no  unevenness,  in  which    the  grass  is  al- 
ways green  with  delight,  over  which  the    skies 
are  blue  with  hope,  we  come  at  last  to  the  white 
hills  on  which  perchance  the   eye    may    behold 
angels  and  behind   which  we  are  to   disappear. 
Our  deep  Northern  brooding  is  here  gently  reined 
in  and  turned  outward   by  the  tender  and   even 
caressing  hand  of  Art  and  Nature ;   they  sing  an 
eternal  chant  for  the  repose  of  the  living  who 


138  BOME. 

are  often  more  in  need  of  it  than  the  dead.     It 
is  deep  in  the  night  and  we  must  part. 

Rome,  March  15th,  1878. 

Do  not  be  astonished  if  you  find  fragments  of 
letters  with  different  dates  in  one  envelope.  I 
often  feel  that  I  must  express  myself  to  you, 
though  I  have  to  do  all  the  talking.  I  always 
imagine  you  to  be  present  when  I  am  writing  a 
letter  and  figure  to  myself  that  look  of  yours 
when  you  are  weighing  a  proposition.  Even 
your  image  in  my  mind  makes  me  feel  at  home, 
and  inspires  me  with  a  certain  unreservedness 
which  I  cannot  possibly  entertain  for  anybody 
else.  This  you  must  have  felt  yourself,  and 
therefore  I  shall  not  say  anything  more  about  it- 
To-day  I  had  a  new  sensation,  the  more  in- 
tense because  wholly  unexpected.  I  loitered  out 
by  accident  to  the  Lateran  and  suddenly  came 
upon  the  Santa  Scala  or  Sacred  Stair,  which  peo- 
ple were  ascending  on  their  knees  by  the  hun- 
dreds. I  had  never  read  or  heard  of  anything  of 
the  kind  in  Eome,  or  if  I  had,  the  circumstance 
had  been  entirely  forgotten ;  but  notices  pasted 
on  the  walls  soon  informed  me  of  the  nature  of 
the  ceremony.  This  Sacred  Stair  belonged  to 
the  House  of  Pilate  and  is  said  to  have  been 
pressed  with  the  feet,  and  indeed  stained  with  the 
blood  of  Christ.     The  steps  were  brought  from 


A   TOUR  m  EUROPE.  139 

Jorusaleni  to  Eome  by  St.  Helen  about  the  year 
32G,  since  which  time  they  have  been  a  great  resort 
for  the  faithful.  ISIany  centuries  ago  they  were 
incased  in  wood,  as  the  stone  was  being  rapidly 
worn  out  by  the  crowd  of  supplicants.  Great 
are  the  advantages  offered  for  performing  this 
holy  duty  —  one  Po})e  gave  indulgence  for  nine 
years,  which  Pius  the  Ninth  made  perpetual.  On 
each  side  was  built  an  additional  flight  of  steps, 
for  ascending  which  on  the  knees  and  repeating 
a  prayer  certain  privileges  were  granted. 

The  spectacle  made  a  strong  impression  upon 
me.  At  first,  true  to  my  Protestant  education, 
1  was  inclined  to  regard  it  as  a  piece  of  Eomish 
superstition,  but  then  I  recollected  my  resolution 
to  quit  that  perverted  way  of  looking  at  things. 
Here  is  a  grave  fact  —  many  honest  and  intelli- 
gent people  for  ages  have  performed  this  cere- 
mony with  deep  devotion  and  therein  found  con- 
solation. AVhat  does  it  mean?  For  it  must  mean 
something  to  some  souls  at  least;  it  must  be  a 
symbol,  superstition  and  chicanery  cannot  vita- 
lize for  so  long  a  period  such  a  fact. 

Then  I  began  thinking  to  myself:.  If  it  is 
productive  of  spiritual  regeneration,  even  the 
least,  thou,  too,  shouldst  ascend  on  thy  knees, 
nay  on  thy  face,  the  Sacred  Stair.  Deepest  rev- 
erence for  the  Divine  is  the  most  important  les- 
son of  exit>tcnce,  prostration  of  the  body  may 
well  typify  it  outwardly — down  on    thy    knees 


140  ROME. 

then  if  that  will  inspire  thee  with  reverence  for 
the  great  and  holy  men  of  the  past.  Blood  too 
has  reddened  the  stair  —  a  matter  trivial  in  it- 
self—  but  it  was  the  heart-blood  spilled  because 
of  adherence  to  the  deepest  conviction  of  truth ; 
take  that  too  as  a  symbol,  and  suffer  thy  body 
to  be  gashed  into  a  fountain  of  gory  jets,  rather 
than  stain  thy  conscience  with  cowardly  yielding. 
Then,  too,  that  troublesome  ascent  on  the  knees 
endured  with  patience  and  prayer  —  may  it  not 
be  taken  as  the  toilsome  passage  of  human  life 
whose  steep  and  rugged  declivity  is  to  be  mounted 
with  a  serene  and  patient  hopefulness  till  we 
reach  the  summit  where  our  labor  is  over?  Im- 
portunately I  demand  of  myself — shall  I  join 
the  suppliants  in  the  ascent? 

But  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  do  it;   I   well 
knew  that  1  had  not  Faith,  such    as  the  Church 
requires  —  I  did    not  believe  in    the    historical 
reality  of  the  Sacred  Stair,  of  the  blood,  of  the 
true  image  of  Christ  at  the  top  of  the  steps.     If 
they  would  onlyletmeinterpret  these  things — but 
then  I  would  have  no  need  of  them,  the  interpre- 
tation would  be  my  expression  of  these  spiritual 
virtues,  and  the  outward  ceremony   becomes   no 
longer  a  need,  perhaps  a  clog  to  the  soul.     Still 
this  ascent  of  the  Sacred  Stair    is  a  genuine  ex- 
pression for  some    people,  possibly  the  best  ex- 
pression of  hallowed  truth.     I    seek  to  sympa- 
thize with  it,  to  throw  myself  into   it  as  one  of 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  141 

those  abidiu<^  forms  into  which  the  human  soul 
has  poured  its  essence. 

I  hjoked  (Ml  und  witnessed  the  popuhice  eagerly 
pressing  forward  to  a  feast  from  which  I  felt  my- 
self excluded,  though  I  too  must  ascend  the  red 
ladder  of  suffering  with  patience  if  not  with 
prayer.  I  was  curious  to  see  what  kind  of  a 
transformation  was  wrought  in  people  through  this 
ceremony,  so  I  went  to  the  passage  by  which 
they  descend  and  glanced  into  their  faces.  One 
visage  indeed  did  seem  to  me  to  look  quite  trans- 
figured, to  have  a  lio;ht  within  which  illuminated 
the  whole  body ;  particularly  that  mask  of  flesh 
called  the  face  was  translucent  with  a  divine 
radiance.  I  wanted  very  much  to  converse  and 
find  out  the  state  of  mind  which  caused  such  an 
unusual  glow,  but  of  course  did  not  speak  to  the 
person.  But  on  the  other  hand  a  young  girl 
came  down  as  she  went  up  —  with  a  head  full  of 
gossip  about  her  lover,  which  she  was  imparting 
in  a  lively  fashion  to  her  companions ;  so  at  least 
I  judged  from  the  fragments  of  speech  which  I 
caught,  as  well  as  by  the  fact  of  her  quick 
approach  towards  a  young  fellow  evidently  wait- 
ing for  her.  The  great  majority  of  those  who 
were  ascendins;  the  Sacred  Stair  were  women  — 
well  known  to  be  far  more  religious  than  their 
masculine  associates.  One  poor  woman  indeed 
enlisted  in  mo  the  liveliest  pity,  so  that  I  almost 
felt  like  going  up  to  her  and  dissuading  her  from 


142  ROME. 

the  attempt;  she  was  in  the  last  stages  of  preg- 
nancy, and  might  have  been  overtaken  with  the 
labor  of  child-birth  right  on  the  stair ;  still  she 
bravely  began  the  ascent  of  the  twenty-eight 
steps  on  her  knees,  repeating  quite  a  long  prayer 
on  every  step.  Doubtless  her  heart  was  full  of 
that  new  being  about  to  be  brought  into  the 
world  by  her,  and  she  wished  it  to  begin  its 
earthly  career  uuder  the  special  protection  of 
Supreme  Power.  Truly  it  was  the  devotion  of  a 
mother — willing  to  risk  her  own  life  for  her 
unborn  offspring  — since  it  is  not  hard  to  imagine 
that  she  might  never  come  down  those  steps 
alive.  Shall  I  not  say  that  this  act  awakened 
quite  as  much  religion  in  me  and  much  more 
emotion  than  the  sight  of  the  Sacred  Stair? 
The  martyrdom  of  the  mother  is  as  divine  a 
thing  as  any  martyrdom — not  excepting  the 
martyrdom  of  the  Lord. 

But  when  I  came  home,  I  had  a  touch  of  the 
other  extreme  in  that  wonderful  sex.  I  re- 
counted my  scruples  as  well  as  my  strong  desire 
to  ascend  the  stair  to  a  woman  traveler  I  met  at 
the  inn;  but  she  laughed  at  me,  saying  that 
Ishe,  though  not  a  Catholic  nor  anything  else,  had 
gone  to  the  top  of  the  Sacred  Stair  twice  on 
her  knees,  and  had  repeated  a  prayer  too  at 
every  step  —  that  not  only  she  but  all  the  Eng- 
lish women  of  her  acquaintance  had  done  the 
same  thing.     She  however   confessed    to   some 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  143 

religious  feeling  in  the  act,  but  the  main  mo- 
tive was  to  see  the  pictures  at  the  top  of  the 
Sacred  Stair.  I  am  free  to  say  that  I  am  in- 
clined to  believe  that  I  have  a  right  to  the  as- 
cent,  for  certainly  I  would  not  do  it  in  a  spirit 
of  mockery  or  even  of  adventure,  but  still  I 
would  have  to  translate,  as  I  went  up,  every  sym- 
bol into  my  own  expression. 

Rome,  March  19,  1878. 

Some  days  ago  I  was  at  another  ceremony,  with 
which,  however,  I  cannot  possibly  find  in  my- 
self any  sympathy.  It  was  the  festival  of  St. 
Joseph,  husband  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  Husband 
of  the  Virgin  —  already  the  contradiction  be- 
gins to  show  its  horns.  It  is  a  difficulty  which 
is  peculiar  to  both  the  Protestant  and  Catholic 
Churches,  so  that  my  sectarian  education  can- 
not be  the  cause  of  the  trouble  now.  But  Pro- 
testants as  a  rule,  I  think,  leave  the  matter 
pretty  well  in  the  background,  which  is  at 
least  prudent  conduct.  In  Rome,  however,  St. 
Joseph  is  celebrated  with  high  honors — with  a 
special  holiday,  ringing  of  bells,  music  and  pro- 
cessions. So  we  are  compelled  to  ask:  What 
did  he  do — what  was  his  character — what  his 
greatness?  A  little  reflection  on  these  questions 
lands  the  mind  into  a  kind  of  aversion,  or  possibly 
into  a  state  of  amusement. 


144  SOME. 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  many  of  the  old 
painters — good  Catholics  to  be  sure,  but  better 
artists — had  the  same  conception  of  his  char- 
acter and  slyly  expressed  it  in  their  Art.  In  pic- 
tures of  the  Holy  Family  I  have  often  no- 
ticed him  —  there  he  stands  in  the  background 
utterly  insignificant,  with  a  patient  mien,  along- 
side of  his  patient  ass,  from  which  he  can  in 
spirit  hardly  be  distinguished.  He  does  not 
seem  to  know  what  has  happened  or  to  have  the 
least  notion  of  the  importance  of  that  Child 
Jesus,  while  the  mother  shows  a  deep  presenti- 
ment of  its  destiny  which  appears  to  flash 
through  centuries.  Therein  his  paternity  is  de- 
nied, nay  he  is  positively  laughed  at — is  a  comic 
figure. 

Well,  I  went  to  a  service  in  his  honor  at  St. 
Peter's  —  it  was  celebrated  in  a  little  chapel 
called  La  Pieta  from  the  well-known  group  of 
this  same  name  by  Michel  Angelo  —  the  Mother 
holding  in  her  lap  the  dead  Christ.  After  the 
service  the  railing  was  thrown  open  and  the 
crowd  rushed  in ;  I  followed  and  in  a  little  side 
room  there  was  displayed  a  picture  of  Joseph 
holdinor  the  infant  Jesus  in  his  arms,  the 
Mother  not  being  present.  The  coloring  was 
beautiful,  but  the  theme  was  particularly  painful 
to  me;  I  leave  you  to  tell  the  reason  why.  But 
I  now  felt  what  I  never  felt  before:  how  the 
presence  of  Mary  harmonizes,  to  a  large  extent. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  US 

this  terrific  note  of  discord  by  putting  Joseph  as 
it  were  out  of  sight.  But  when  he  is  thrust 
into  tlie  foreground  as  here,  it  becomes  a  rasp- 
ing, a  grating  of  the  nerves  beyond  endurance. 
My  dear  friend,  I  have  more  in  mind,  but  I 
can  well  imagine  that  these  lucubrations  can  be- 
come  tirespme  to  you.  As  I  read  them  over,  it 
seems  almost  as  if  I  was  talking  to  myself  and 
not  to  a  person  living  thousands  of  miles  away 
on  a  different  continent.  Still  I  can  only  write 
what  is  moving  within  me,  here  I  am  the  child  of 
impressions.  I  have  now  received  three  letters 
from  you,  all  of  which,  I  need  not  assure  you, 
were  very  welcome.  My  health  is  perfect,  my 
labor  unremitting,  an  Italian  sky  is  always  over 
my  head,  Avith  only  an  occasional  storm  or  cloud. 
My  sole  regret  is  that  Time  will  insist  upon  cut- 
ting off  the  day  at  the  24th  hour's  end. 

Home,  April  1st.,  187S. 

Your  letter  came  to-day  ;  I  must  thank  you  for 
your  promptitude,  as  it  di.si)elled  a  cloud  of  dis- 
appointment which  has  been  hanging  over  me 
for  a  week.  You  do  not  know  how  satisfactory 
it  is  to  receive  a  bit  of  news  from  home  in  a  for- 
eign land,  and  how  melancholy  it  makes  a  per- 
son to  go  to  the  Post  Office  day  after  day  and 
receive  for  an  answer  the  same  monotonous 
•' Nothing  f OF  you."     Some  of  my  correspond- 

10 


146  ROME. 

ents  have  proved  unfaithful,  others  are  very 
slow ;  you  deserve  the  crown  both  for  fidelty  and 
promptitude. 

And  who,  do  you  think,  has  crossed  my  path 
here  in  Rome?  A  person  who  used  to  work 
with  us  in  the  High  School  —  Mr.  Thomas 
Davidson.  Two  or  three  days  ago  I  found  a 
card  on  my  table  with  his  address ;  he  had  come 
to  see  me  but  I  was  out.  Next  morning  I  went 
to  pay  him  a  visit,  stayed  till  noon,  and  had  a 
delightful  time.  We  walked  together  to  the 
Capitoline  where  I  left  him  at  the  Prussian 
Archaeological  Institute  which  overhangs  the 
Tarpeian  Rock.  He  was  full  of  his  experiences 
in  Greece,  which  are  the  more  interesting  to  me 
as  I  begin  to  hope  to  make  a  trip  there  myself. 
How  little  space  means  in  these  days !  It  seems 
almost  as  if  we  had  met  in  some  town  adjoining 
St.  Louis.  And  indeed  the  strings  which  brought 
us  together  were  worked  from  St.  Louis  by 
the  unwearied  cunning  hand  of  Harris.  Knowing 
the  whereabouts  of  both  of  us,  he  sent  to  each  a 
postal-card  informing  us  of  the  situation ;  other- 
wise we  might  have  remained  in  the  city  for 
months  without  seeing  each  other.  But  who 
■would  have  thought  of  or  executed  such  a  feat 
except  him?  Davidson  intends  to  remain  in 
Rome  about  six  weeks,  then  to  goto  Paris  where 
he  will  stay  some  time  at  the  Exposition,  but  his 


A  TOUR  IN  EURDPE.  147 

purpose  is  to  be  in  America  by  the  4th  of  July 
next. 

I  have  now  been  in  Rome  four  weeks,  which 
time  has  been  chiefly  spent  upon  Ancient  Sculp- 
ture, with  some  attention  to  Architecture.  Just 
now  I  feel  pretty  full,  indeed  a  little  sated,  and 
I  must  turn  to  something  else  for  relief.  Mv  soli- 
tary  life  too  is  telling  on  my  disposition.  As  I  go 
nowhere  and  shun  making  acquaintances,  I  some- 
times feel  lonely  and  depressed.  A  man  can  not 
entirel}^  dispense  with  society ;  if  he  does,  society 
will  take  its  own  revenge.  Of  course  I  chat  with 
Italians  of  all  degrees ;  also  there  is  one  Ameri- 
can woman  in  the  Hotel  where  I  am  lodged,  and 
with  her  I  converse  once  in  a  while  out  of  pure 
necessity  of  uttering  myself.  She  stares  at  me 
with  a  kind  of  wonder  on  account  of  my  strange 
ideas  and  expressions ;  she  is  probably  bored  by 
my  talk,  but  I  go  ahead  never  minding  her  rather 
unsympathetic  manner.  The  weather,  to  which  I 
am  very  susceptible,  has  been  recently  cloudy 
and  rainy ;  here  the  clouds  seem  to  muffle  my 
spirits  in  black  quite  as  much  as  they  drape  the 
heavens. 

The  coming  month  I  am  going  to  change  my 
programme  somewhat.  Painting  is  now  to  be 
taken  up,  from  the  study  or  contemphition  of 
which  I  have  hitherto  abstained  on  purpose.  It 
has  seemed  to  me  to  bo  better  to  contine  the  at- 
tention to  one  Art  at  a  time  and  to  the  best  ex- 


148  ROME. 

amples  of  that  Art,  than  to  look  at  too  much, 
for  the  amount  of  material  offered  to  the  sense 
of  vision  is  so  enormous  and  varied  that  one 
loses  all  power  of  distinction  in  the  attempt  to 
grasp  everything  at  once.  I  hold  that  the  most 
successful  traveler  is  he  who  refuses  to  see  more 
objects  than  he  can  reflect  upon  and  thereby 
penetrate  their  meaning.  '♦  Rome  in  six  days  " 
is  the  title  'of  some  guide-book,  which  ought 
rather  to  be  "  How  to  go  through  Rome  with 
eyes  wide  open  and  not  see  it  at  all."  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  that  I  have  not  yet  presented 
any  of  my  letters  of  introduction —  which  is  a 
sort  of  incivility  to  those  who  took  the  trouble 
of  giving  them  to  me;  but  soon  I  hope  to  rectify 
this  part  of  my  conduct. 

The  most  delightful  sensation  that  I  have  yet 
received  from  statuary  came  from  two  well- 
known  figures  in  the  Capitoline  Museum  —  the 
Faun  and  Antiuous.  They  stand  side  by  side 
with  only  a  beautiful  column  between  them  in 
the  room  where  Havvthorne  lays  the  scene  of  his 
first  chapter  of  Transformation;  and  one  of 
them  —  the  Faun  —  the  author  of  this  romance 
has  attempted  to  win  from  its  shape  of  marble 
and  caste  into  a  form  of  flesh  and  blood.  I 
stood  looking  at  the  Faun  a  long  time ;  it  leans 
against  the  stem  of  a  tree  and  holds  in  its  hand 
a  shepherd's  pipe;  such  an  image  of  the  happi- 
ness of  Nature  I  never  beheld  before.     For  it 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  149 

is  not  the  happiness  of  victory  or  of  repose  after 
struggle,  not  at  all  the  happiness  of  the  happy 
Gods,  but  it  is  the  happiness  of  Nature,  of  the 
natural  man  sunk  in  an  unconscious  serenity, 
without  want,  without  conflict,  without  spiritual 
cravings  of  any  kind.  It  is  the  most  perfect  em- 
bodiment of  idyllic  life  —  it  is  marble  sunshine 
lying  on  the  grassy  banks  of  the  brook  that 
skirts  field  and  wood.  This  is  not  the  Roman 
conception  of  the  Faun,  but  the  Greek — not 
sensuality,  but  sensuousness.  The  Roman  Faun 
is  a  brute,  the  Grecian  is  a  human  beingr,  though 
not  yet  risen  iuto  a  self-conscious  spiritual  life. 
The  essence  of  all  the  idvls  of  Theocritus 
breathes  from  this  fresh  form,  which  has  no 
large  muscles,  no  strength  —  since  it  has  no 
struggle,  nor  can  we  think  of  it  as  laboring  in  the 
fields.  The  pipe  in  its  hand  shows  to  what  sim- 
ple harmony  its  soul  is  attuned ;  the  flowing  hair 
speaks  of  the  luxuriant  growth  of  the  natural 
man;  head  and  body  are  in  the  most  perfect 
unison.  Nature  has  two  grand  opposing 
phases  —  she  begets  day  and  night,  the  butter- 
fly and  the  reptile,  sweet  love  and  fierce  passion; 
this  statue  is  the  utterance  of  Nature  in  all  her 
brightness  and  cheerfulness. 

But  time  is  passing;  we  might  be  glad  to  re- 
main and  dream  away  eternity  with  the  Faun, 
but  the  inexorable  Hours  carry  us  a  pace  further 
to  Antinous.     You  recollect  his  story:    he  was  a 


150  HOME, 

beautiful  youth,  the  favorite  of  the  Emperor 
Hadrian,  by  whom  he  was  deified  after  an  early 
and  mysterious  death.  The  artist  poured  into 
his  features  the  deep  questioning  soul-sorrow  of 
the  imperial  epoch  —  and  made  it  without  doubt 
the  most  original  product  of  a  degenerate  age 
of  Art;  it  is  indeed  a  type  of  Rome  under  the 
Empire,  but  what  a  terrible  change  from  the 
Faun  I  The  body  of  Antinous  is  perfect;  it 
shows  health,  vigor,  activity;  in  fine  it  is  the 
body  of  the  man  of  action — not  of  massive 
Herculean  strength  are  the  muscles,  but  they  are 
supple,  almost  transparent  instruments  of  intel- 
ligence. Now  on  this  body  of  which  every  fiber 
means  action,  is  placed  a  head  which  signifies 
wholly  reflection ;  and  as  the  result  of  this  re- 
flection there  looks  out  of  the  face  the  very  soul 
of  melancholy,  a  divine,  mysterious  sorrow;  as 
into  a  well  deep  and  dark,  so  one  casts  a  glance 
into  that  face,  seeing  depth  and  darkness  but  no 
bottom.  A  Roman  head  upon  a  Greek  body, 
mortal  man  linked  to  the  happy  God  —  from  the 
serene  Apollo  has  sprung  world-worn  Antinous. 
What  is  the  matter  with  thee,  unhappy  youth? 
To  any  deeply  sympathizing  friend  he  will 
answer :  1  have  no  hope ;  the  future  life  is  to 
me  a  dark  fathomless  cavern  in  which  my  soul  is 
condemned  to  search  and  wander  even  now  in 
this  present  existence  without  beholding  the  fitful 
ray  of  a   single  star,     I  have  no  hope ;  I  know 


A  rOUB  IN  EUROPE.  151 

this  beautiful  body  of  mine  will  melt  into  noth- 
ingness, this  bright  maj^nificent  Roman  world 
will  sink  into  dust,  these  delightful  senses  will 
vanish  like  a  dream  —  all  is  transitory  except  the 
Hereafter.  I  have  no  hope  —  Rome  which  wor- 
ships me  has  no  hope.  Yes  there  is  hope,  An- 
tinous  (let  me  reply  to  that  speaking  statue). 
Already  is  the  soul  born  into  the  flesh  who  will 
redeem  the  Roman  world  and  might  redeem 
thee.  Reconciliation  is  again  possible  and  man 
will  once  more  be  happy.  So  the  Greek, 
Roman,  and  Christian  ages  rush  before  the  mind 
in  this  wonderful  city. 

Borne,  April  4th,  1878. 

At  last  a  letter  from  you  1  But  my  wrath  has 
been  wholly  disarmed  by  the  pleasure  which  its 
perusal  excited,  and  still  more  by  the  regret 
which  I  now  feel  after  having  learned  the  cause 
of  the  delay.  I  hope  that  your  recovery  may 
be  speedy  and  that  you  may  be  able  to  make  a 
trip  to  Europe  this  year.  But  let  me  give  you  a 
little  advice :  do  not  aggravate  your  trouble  by 
reading  the  •'  System  of  Shakespeare's  Dramas;" 
you  cannot  hold  out* under  such  an  accumulation  of 
ills.  That  most  tedious  town,  Hot  Springs,  com- 
bined with  such  a  book  would  fill  a  healthy  body 
with  neuralgic  pain.  Let  me  tell  you  a  story  of 
this  classic   land ;  Guicciardini  is  jv  famous  his- 


152  ROME. 

torian  of  Italy,  chiefly  distinguished  for  his  long, 
labyrinthine,  deeply  ramified  sentences,  so  that 
his  whole  work  seems  to  lie  together  in  one  in- 
separable mass  of  plaited  vinesr  leaves,  and 
tendrils.  Reading  this  history  is  like  eating  a 
certain  kind  of  fine  Macaroni,  you  either  have  to 
take  the  whole  plateful  into  the  mouth  at  onee,  or 
have  the  little  threads  of  pastry  streaming  down 
your  chin  into  your  bosom  till  the  ends  dangle  in 
your  lap;  for  you  can  neither  disintangle  nor  bite 
off  the  innumerable  fibres  running  in  every 
direction.  Well,  to  the  story.  A  man  con- 
demned to  punishment  for  some  crime  was  given 
his  choice :  read  Guicciardini  or  go  to  the  gal- 
leys. He  chose  the  Historian  and  tried  the 
latter's  pages  for  a  few  days;  then  he  recalled 
his  choice  and  deliberately  went  to  the  galleys 
rather  than  endure  the  torture  of  reading  the 
book.  So  the  lively  Italians  have  fabled,  for  it 
hardly  is  a  fact;  but  I  tremble  sometimes  when 
I  think  of  what  arack  I  have  constructed  for  some 
of  my  poor  innocent  critics.  Already  I  have 
heard  across  the  Atlantic  shouts  of  torment  and 
cursings  rend  the  skies.  "What  a  dark,  myste- 
rious Tartarean  book"  cries  the  newspaper 
critic,  "  a  book  which  will  not  let  itself  be  read 
without  thinkmg.  Do  not  we,  in  our  glorious 
journalistic  profession,  write  over  whole  acres  of 
foolscap,  and  print  the  same  —  to  peruse  which 
requires  not  a  single  thought  from  the  reader  and 


A  TOUR  /iV  EUROPE.  153 

to  produce  which  requires  not  a  single  thought 
from  the  writer?  Reading  made  easy,  is  the 
grand  attainment  of  the  nineteenth  century,  so 
easy  as  to  demand  not  the  faintest  spark  of 
reflection,  and  we,  the  newspapers  have  solved 
the  problem.  For  is  it  not  clear  as  the  glance  of 
the  day-god,  that  if  no  sense  be  put  into  writing, 
it  will  require  no  sense  to  understand  the  same. 
But  here  is  a  book  which  insists  upon  being 
looked  at  with  some  attention  or  shutting  its  lids 
under  our  very  nose.  What  an  insult  to  the  in- 
telligence of  a  reader?  Rash  author,  to  imagine 
that  he  can  make  us  think  I" 

I  see,  however,  that  you  are  not  deterred  by 
such  cries;  let  me  thank  you  for  the  friendly 
interest  which  you  have  taken  in  my  book.  I 
hope  to  stay  here  in  Europe  till  it,  along  with 
myself,  is  forgotten ;  then  I  shall  return  and 
begin  life  over  again,  as  if  I  had  been  born  a 
second  time.  Perhaps,  however,  this  way  of 
speaking  is  too  strong.  I  mean  only  that  it  will 
be  forever  impossible  for  me  to  write  another 
such  a  book.  Also  in  response  to  your  request 
let  me  say  that  at  some  later  period  I  shall  try  to 
give  you  an  outline  of  my  thoughts  upon  "Wil- 
helm  Meister,  but  just  now  too  many  other  things 
are  dancing  through  my  brain. 

I  have  been  reading  a  novel  recently,  Haw- 
thorn's Transformation  so  named  here,  or 
Marble  Faun,  as  it  is  usually   called  in  Amer- 


154  BOME. 

ica.  Some  words  upon  this  book  will  sup- 
ply, for  the  present,  the  place  of  my  remarks 
upon  Meister.  I  suppose  that  you  have  read 
it;  if  not,  do  so,  for  the  perusal  will  well 
repay  the  trouble.  The  scene  of  its  action 
is  chiefly  located  in  Rome,  and  I  find  that 
the  book  is  much  read  here  —  a  fact  which  is 
very  gratifying  to  my  national  pride.  Many  of 
the  details  of  the  book  are  exceedingly  tine,  in- 
deed wonderful ;  the  author  has  in  general  suc- 
ceeded most  happily  in  making  the  surroundings 
reflect  the  spiritual  character  of  the  persons 
placed  in  these  surroundings ;  in  fact,  he  some- 
times betrays  too  much  his  conscious  effort  in 
this  direction.  The  best  part  is  the  description 
of  the  faun-nature :  man  in  his  primitive  state  of 
idyllic  innocence  and  simplicity,  reposing  in  the 
eternal  sunshine  of  Paradise.  Then  there  falls 
upon  this  happy  spirit,  sin  ;  he  commits  a  crime, 
the  result  is,  happiness  departs  forever  but  intel- 
ligence dawns.  It  is  a  Yankee  Puritan  writing 
over  again  almost  literally  the  Fall  of  Man  and 
the  expulsion  from  the  Garden  of  Eden;  nay, 
here  is  also  the  Eve  who  seduces  man  to  evil, 
for  Donatello  does  this  wicked  deed  through 
love;  then  too,  there  is  a  very  dark  uncertain 
Hebrew  sort  of  a  Satan  always  hovering  in  the 
background.  So  far,  so  good;  the  two  stages 
portrayed  are  without  doubt  correct  psychologi- 
cally and  belong  both  to  the  general  development 


A  TOUR  m  EUIiOPE.  155 

of  the  whole  human  nice  and  at  the  same  time 
to  the  life  of  every  individual.  These  two 
stages  are  first  the  state  of  innocence  which 
dwells  in  the  liijht  yet  does  not  know  it :  secondly, 
the  state  of  unhappincss  which  has  distinguished 
light  from  darkness,  and  knows  that  it  dwells  m 
darkness. 

But  we  ask  eagerly  after  the  third  stage  —  the 
return  out  of  darkness  to  light,  the  form  of  sal- 
vation,  redemption,  or  whatever  else,  it  may  be 
called.  Alas,  here  the  book  breaks  down,  the 
complete  transformation  of  man  is  not  given, but 
only  the  wretched  transformation  from  innocence 
to  sin.  True,  the  author  speaks  of  many  high 
things,  as  repentance,  confession,  works  of  ))en- 
ance  and  prayer;  but  all  this  is  external,  for  it 
does  not  enter  into  and  bring  about  the  solution  of 
his  story.  He  i«  manifestly  in  this  state  himself, 
for  him  there  is  no  solution,  that  of  Christianity 
can  not  have  meant  anything.  Strange  yet 
highly  characteristic  of  New  England;  indeed 
for  New  England  it  seems  that  Christ  has  not 
yet  died ;  the  Puritans  are  old  Hebrews,  or  partly 
Hindoos,  showing  a  pronounced  lapse  to  the 
Orient. 

The  book  is  not  therefore  a  world-book,  but 
many  of  its  details  are  most  exquisite.  The 
atmosphere  of  Art  which  the  author  has  thrown 
around  his  characters,  and  made  the  means  of 
mirroring  their  spiritual  faces,  is  delightful,  pur- 


156  BQME. 

ticularly  here  in  Italy  where  a  few  steps  will 
bring  us  to  the  actual  scenes;  but  doubly  de- 
lightful all  these  things  must  be. in  the  memory, 
when  read  far  away  from  the  localities.  One 
regrets  that  the  author  is  sometimes  a  little 
peevish  over  very  small  matters  and  uses  un- 
-justly  harsh  language  towards  Rome  and  its  citi- 
zens; in  regard  to  the  Catholic  Church  he  is 
hide-bound  and  full  of  narrow  prejudice.  He 
must  show  that  he  is  a  provincial  New  Englander 
inheriting  the  bitter  sectarian  strifes  of  centuries 
past.  A  similar  partiality  has  ruined  his  Hilda, 
who  is  not  the  keen  bold  Yankee  Girl,  the 
Amazonian  conqueror  of  worlds.  Her  too  I 
have  seen  here  at  Rome  —  but  enough  —  I  forgot 
that  you  are  from  Massachusetts.  Lay  it  all  to 
my  prejudice  and  scan  gently  my  weakness. 

But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  something  about 
Rome  —  well,  I  am  not  to  blame,  the  demon 
drives  my  pen,  not  I. 

Rome,  Ajjril  Sth,  1878. 

A  month  I  have  been  in  Rome,  and  I  have 
certainly  not  lacked  occupation.  As  I  feel  in  a 
retrospective  mood  to-night,  I  shall  send  you  a 
brief  survey.  You  recollect  that  I  wrote  to  you 
from  London  and  from  Paris, stating  that  my  chief 
bent  was  toward  the  antique,  that  the  sculp- 
turesque world  of  old  Hellas  seemed  to  attract 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  157 

me  more  than  anything  else  amid  all  the  modern 
allurements  of  those  two  great  cities.  The  same 
fact  has  repeated  itself  here  in  Rome.  I  have 
spent  the  most  of  my  days  in  the  two  large  gal- 
leries of  sculpture,  the  Capitoliiie  and  Vatican 
Museums,  trying  my  best  to  win  the  secret  of 
ancient  Art.  At  the  same  time  other  matters 
have  not  been  neglected.  With  my  faithful 
guide  in  hand,  whose  name,  Gsell-Fels,  seems  a 
kind  of  torso,  I  have  traversed  every  street  and 
located  the  most  important  places  in  the  ancient 
and  modern  city.  Painting  and  Architecture  I 
have  scanned,  but  not  studied  furiously  as  yet: 
I  shall  attack  both  of  them  later.  Literature 
appears  to  be  a  weakling  here  at  present;  cer- 
tainly it  does  not  force  itself  upon  the  attention 
everywhere  as  at  Paris. 

You,  my  friend,  have  known  me  a  long  time; 
did  you  ever  notice  any  such  tendency  in  me 
before?  I  confess  I  am  a  kind  of  mystery  to 
myself  in  this  matter;  such  a  bent,  so  persistent 
and  exclusive,  I  was  not  conscious  of  possessing 
in  times  past,  though  I  had  read  a  good  deal 
about  Art  in  general,  and  had  studied  copies  of 
some  of  the  great  masterpieces.  This  inner  im- 
pulse appeared  to  burst  out  strongly  at  the  view 
of  the  Elgin  Marbles  in  London,  with  a  longing 
to  get  back  to  their  creative  source  in  Greece 
itself.  But  to  what  practical  purpose  all  this 
drives   forward,    I  cannot   divine.     Certainly  I 


168  HOME. 

have  not  the  remotest  notion  of  turninoj  sculptor 
or  artist.  I  have  laughed  at  Goethe,  who, 
when  at  Rome,  humbugged  himself  with  the 
delusion  of  becoming  a  painter.  Still  I  feel  that 
I  must  let  myself  slide.  I  am  getting  interested 
in  seeing  where  this  hitherto  sleeping  instinct 
will  wake  up.  Thus  in  a  kind  of  somnambulistic 
frame  of  mind  I  ramble  through  these  Roman 
halls  of  statuary. 

Home,  April  6ih,  1878. 

A  long,  reflective  stroll  outside  of  the  walls 
on  the  Appian  Way,  the  first  of  those  world 
roads  built  by  Rome,  which  show  her  getting 
her  grip  upon  Italy  and  then  upon  all  the  rest 
of  the  Mediterranean  lands.  No  other  work 
gives  such  a  glimpse  into  her  spirit  at  this  early 
date  (312  B.  C).  This  primal  tentacle  of  hers 
reaches  out  from  the  central  body  southwards, 
making  ready  to  grasp  the  Greek  cities  of 
Southern  Italy,  then  Sicily;  after  which  comes 
the  mighty  grapple  with  Carthage  for  domina- 
tion directly,  but  really  for  the  control  of  the 
World's  History.  The  time  has  arrived  when 
the  scattered  peoples  lying  around  the  great 
Midland  Sea  must  be  organized  into  a  political 
unity ;  these  roads  may  be  deemed  the  nerves 
of  the  vast  organism  centering  in  the  brain  of 
the  world.    I  strike  with  my  staff  a  square  stone 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  159 

block  laid  down  twenty-two  centuries  ago,  and 
rattled  over  to-day  by  the  passing  wagon.  That 
is  certainly  a  touch  of  the  Eternal. 

On  the  other  hand  the  Apijian  Way  is  lined 
with  ancient  totubs  of  Romans.  That  of  Ce- 
cilia Metella  has  won  a  great  name.  The  work 
lasts,  the  individual  passes  on.  Here  one  sinks 
back  into  the  Past  in  a  kind  of  reflective  swoon, 
out  of  which  however  there  is  betimes  a  sudden 
shaking  and  waking. 

For  what  is  that  object  yonder  crossing  the 
Appian  Stone-Way  with  its  own  road?  It  is  an 
Iron- Way  (i^errovm),  most  modern  of  all  Ways. 
Napoleon  still  took  for  getting  into  Italy  sub- 
stantially the  same  roads  that  Caesar  used  more 
than  eighteen  centuries  before  him  and  marched 
pretty  much  in  the  same  manner.  What  way 
would  he  take  now,  less  than  a  hundred  years 
after  his  own  time?  Here  it  comes,  the  huge 
new-born  horse  which  he  would  employ  —  a  horse 
pullino:  a  lonsr  train  of  wagons  at  a  marvelous 
speed.  Contemplate  it,  the  work  of  art;  listen 
to  it — the  shrillest  anachronism  in  Rome  is 
that  railroad  whistle  on  the  Campagna.  Gun- 
powder gives  here  not  such  a  discordant  sound ; 
we  can  never  forget  the  use  of  it  in  the  castle  of 
St.  Angelo  by  Benvenuto  Cellini  when  defend- 
ing Rome  against  the  troops  of  the  Constable  of 
Bourbon    more  than  three  centuries  and  a  half 


160  HOME. 

ago.  So  we  may  say  that  gunpowder  too  is  get- 
iug  old  with  Rome,  while  the  railroad  is  to-day's, 
lu  such  a  fiame  of  mind  I  wander  toward  the 
Station  and  walk  slowly  down  into  the  City.  I 
cannot  help  toying  at  times  with  another  thought  : 
what  would. the  ancient  Roman  multitude  say  to 
yonder  locomotive  steaming  and  puffing  through 
the  walls  toward  them  as  if  to  run  them  down? 
Julius  Caesar,  greatest  soldier  of  Rome,  would  not 
stand  his  ground,  but  would  take  to  his  heels,  mak- 
ing for  some  temple  near  by  and  crying :  That  God 
is  surely  after  me.  I  amuse  myself  with  meeting 
tlie  old  atheist  Lucretius  in  a  promenade  up  this 
street,  and  seeing  him  catch  his  first  glimpse  of  the 
spark-blowing  monster  just  from  Orcus  :  he  would 
fall  on  his  knees  with  pious  incantations,  and 
at  once  make  himself  a  complete  illustration  of 
his  own  apothegm  :  Timor  fecit  Deos.  Again  let 
us  drop  through  many  centuries  and  come  into 
Rome  as  it  was  about  nine  decades  ago  in  this 
same  locality,  and  imagine  Johann  Wolfgang 
Goethe  just  stepping  out  the  entrance  of  the 
Baths  of  Diocletian,  where  he  had  been  saturating 
himself  with  heathen  Art,  and  seeing  for  the  first 
time  that  mighiy  terror  come  roaring  up  his  way? 
Could  he  hold  out,  especially  if  it  gave  one  of 
its  awful  snorts?  I  have  to  think  that  he  would 
not  show  fight,  but  would  run,  undignified 
though  it  might  be,  ruu  for  dear  life  along  with 
a  vast  throng  of   ecclesiastics,    priests,    monks, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  161 

cardinals  ,  and  possibly  the  Pope  himself,  the 
whole  mass  rushing  pell  mell  into  the  Great 
Christian  Church  yonder,  the  Basilica  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore,  for  supplication  and  protection. 
I  venture  to  say  that  he  too  would  there  join  in 
the  universal  chant  with  fervent  prayer :  Domine^ 
Salvator  Mundi,  jmrcite  vestris.  Some  such 
thing  "the  old  heathen  "  did  later  at  Weimar, 
when  very  sick,  according  to  the  report  of  his 
wife  Christiane. 

In  such  fashion  the  ancient,  the  modern  and 
,  the  middle  get  mixed  up  at  Rome  as  nowhere 
else,  producing  at  times  a  grotesque  hodgepodge 
of  the  world's  ages,  not  only  in  fancy  but  also 
in  reality.  That,  my  friend,  is  a  part  of  my 
experience  at  least,  and  so  I  give  it  to  you. 

Rome,  April  7th,  1878. 

I  felt  to-day  an  electric  shock  from  the  Latin, 
when  I  read  on  the  walls  of  a  little  church : 
Venio  Romam  iterum  crucijigi.  The  leo-end 
runs  that  on  this  spot  Christ  bearing  the  cross 
met  Peter  who  was  fleeing  from  his  own  similar 
death  at  the  hands  of  persecutors.  He  asked 
the  ghost:  "Lord,  whither  goest  thou?  "  The 
answer  fell  like  a  thunderbolt:  "I  come  to 
Rome  to  be  again  crucified."  Whereat  it  may 
be  supposed  that  the  specter  vanished,  having 
given  its  warning  to  Peter,  and  to  all  time,  yea 

11 


162  ROME. 

even  to  me.  One  thing  is  certain:  that  Latin 
sentence —  Venio  Roniam  iterum  crucijigi —  has 
been  running  in  and  out  of  my  brain  all  day,  re- 
appearing every  time  with  a  new  significance. 

Some  years  ago  I  heard  a  rather  sensational 
preacher  take  as  his  text :  What  would  Christ  do 
were  He  now  to  come  to  St.  Louis?  Many 
things  the  speaker  mentioned  and  dilated  upon 
according  to  the  wont  of  his  class ;  but  he  never 
uttered  the  grand  fact:  Venio  iterum  crucijigi. 
I  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  priest  might 
again  take  part  in  the  crucifixion  as  he  did  of 
old.  Was  not  the  admonition  addressed  to  the 
apostle  who  was  head  of  the  Church?  I  notice 
that  this  was  one  of  the  few  Christian  things 
which  made  a  strong  impression  upon  Goethe, 
even  m  his  heathen  mood. 

The  little  church  on  whose  wall  the  legend  is 
inscribed,  is  called  from  Peter's  question, 
Domine,  quo  vadis  {Lord,  ^vhither  goesi  thou?) 
It  is  the  best  legend  I  have  yet  found  in  Rome, 
which  is  full  of  them,  as  it  persists  in  staying 
and  singing  in  the  soul  long  after  the  words  have 
vanished  from  the  eye.  In  this  way  it  shows 
itself  naturally  poetic,  creating  song  through  its 
own  native  power,  and  reproducing  itself  m  hun- 
dreds of  image*,  some  of  which  I  tried  to  catch 
on  the  wing  and  to  thrall  into  words  and  even 
meter  when  I  came  home. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  163 

Rome,  April  0th,  1878. 

Your  favorite,  Goethe,  I  have  been  reading 
for  two  or  three  days,  with  no  small  eagerness. 
His  Italian  Journcij,  I  have  been  pouring  over  in 
order  to  catch  his  line  of  experience  here  in  Rome, 
It  is  a  great  privilege  to  see  Goethe  seeing  the 
antique  and  puzzling  himself  over  its  signifi- 
cance :  he  too  becomes  in  the  act  a  kind  of  puz- 
zle, and  I  cannot  yet  discover  quite  what  he  gets 
out  of  it.  But  give  him  and  me  time,  and  we 
may  yet  find  it  and  ourselves.  Another  little 
coincidence  has  entertained  me,  even  if  mean- 
ingless :  he  was  just  about  my  age  when  he  first 
got  into  Rome  some  ninety  years  ago. 

Judge  my  surprise  when  a  former  pupil  of 
mine  in  the  St.  Louis  High  School,  walked  up 
to  me  some  days  since,  and  saluted  me  as  I  stood 
in  the  Vatican  Museum  before  the  Laocoon. 
What!  I  cried,  another  ghost  in  this  world  of 
ghosts,  but  now  from  over  the  ocean !  The 
stout  shake  of  his  hand  as  well  as  his  peculiar 
drawl  heard  often  in  recitation,  convinced  me  of 
his  reality.  He  had  taken  a  course  in  a  German 
School  of  Architecture,  and  was  now  paying  a 
visit  to  seethe  works  of  his  art  in  Rome,  as  well 
as  to  have  a  pleasant  outing  before  his  return  to 
America.  He  had  two  companions  with  him,  an 
Englishmen  from  Australia,  and  a  Russian  who 
could  not  talk  English   but  spoke    German.     A 


164  ROME. 

cosmopolitan  group  surely,  but  entirely  con- 
genial ;  very  agreeable  were  the  hours  we  spent 
together,  and  especially  profitable  to  me  who 
had  been  too  much  alone.  For  the  sake  of  our 
Russian  companion,  we  usually  conversed  in 
German,  though  English  was  the  familiar  tongue 
of  three  of  us.  I  traversed  with  them  the  city 
again,  listening  to  their  architectural  remarks 
especially.  Nor  did  we  fail  to  enter  a  German 
pot-house  (kneipe)  which  we  ran  across  in  our 
wanderings,  and  to  honor  Fatherland  and  also 
St.  Louis  with  an  offering  to  Gambrinus,  who 
was  there  enthroned  in  his  temple  amid  the 
classic  Gods  of  old  Rome. 

Our  chief  exploit  together  was  a  day's  tramp 
in  the  Alban  Mountains  from  Frascati,  to  which 
we  went  by  rail.  It  seemed  to  me  that  in  some 
of  the  villages  which  we  passed  through,  I  got 
a  peep  into  primitive  Rome,  whose  early  people 
came  from  these  hills  according  to  legend.  The 
site  of  Alba  Longa,  the  Latin  mother  of  Rome, 
is  still  traceable.  But  I  shall  tell  you  at  once 
my  chief  experience,  which  certainly  hit  me 
hard.  I  was  standing  on  the  height  above  one 
of  the  villages  called  Rocca  di  Papa,  from  which 
I  could  look  across  the  Campagna  and  see  Rome, 
especially  the  Dome  of  St,  Peter's,  less  than 
twenty  miles  distant.  It  was  a  noble  view,  into 
which  crowded  a  throng  of  associations  with  the 
Past;    in   fact,    more  of    the    World's    History 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  165 

centered  upon  that  spot  than  upon  any  other  on 
the    gh)be.      So    I    was   thinkinir    when  a     na- 
tive  approached   ine   and  begged   for  a    penny. 
Something    put  it    into  my  bead  to    ask  him: 
"  What  place  is  that  yonder?  "       He  answered: 
"Roma."     I  looked  at  him  and   asked  another 
question:     "Were   you    ever    there?"     Imag- 
ine  his    reply:     "No."     I  was    thunderstruck. 
"What!    all    your    life    m  sight    of  Rome  and 
never  once  in  it?  "     Said  he:   "I   have  enough 
to  do  to  live   here.     Give    me  a    baijocco,    8ig- 
nore.''       '-' Ecco'"    ''  Grazia.''      And    I    have 
come  across  continents  and  oceans  to  see  Rome  ! 
But  the  fellow  was  off,    having  enough  of  me. 
Such    a    human    vegetable,    growing  generation 
after  generation  for  thousands  of  years,  possibly 
upon  the  same  little  plot  of  ground  1  never  saw 
before.     Did   you?     He  is  probably  a  direct  de- 
scendant of  one  of  those  old  pre-historic  ante- 
Roman     Latins     wliom    history    finds     already 
settled    on   these    hills    before    its    dawn.     Yet 
the  Latins   were    Aryan  immigrants,  and   hence 
could     and      did    migrate ;     I    have     concluded 
that   this   specimen    nmst    be    a  relic    of    some 
older   race,    perchance   the    cave-dwellers,    still 
afloat  on  the  stream   of  time.     I  explained  the 
talk  to  my  associates,  who  were  weak  in  Italian, 
and    we   all  passed  to  a  neighboring  wine-shop 
and  there  wondered  at   ourselves  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  gentle  stimulant;   in  mutual  admira- 


166  EOME. 

tion,  we  again  noted  that  one  of  us  was  from 
Australia,  one  from  Russia,  and  two  from 
America.  Surely  it  could  not  be  said  of  us  that 
we  were  vegetating;    on  our  native  hills. 


Borne,  April  17(h,  1878. 

Galleries  have  been  a1>andoned  for  a  week 
and  more.  I  have  not  even  taken  the  time  to 
write  a  letter.  A  new  influence  has  seemed  to 
swoop  down  upon  me  with  a  demonic  power, 
which  I  would  not  and  could  not  resist.  Poetry 
has  driven  off  everything  else,  and  that  too  a 
kind  of  poetry  which  I  never  before  had  aught 
to  do  with,  as  far  as  I  can  recollect.  The  ma- 
terial must  have  been  ready  but  the  spark  which 
kindled  the  blaze  was  that  collection  of  short 
Greek  verses  called  epigrams  or  inscriptions, 
and  known  under  the  general  name  of  Anthol- 
ogia  Palatina,  The  meter  is  a  peculiar  an- 
tique one,  made  up  of  alternating  hexameters 
and  pentameters  of  which  I  shall  fling  at  you  ray 
first  specimen  describing  the  new  experience: 

With  a  handful  of  flowers  a  form  fleets  in  at  my 

window, 
Shrinking  in  size  to  my  room,  stretching   my 

room  to  the  world. 
Goddess,  I  know  thee — in  times  gone  by  thou 

hast  oriven  me  solace, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUEOPE.  167 

With  thy  beautiful  strain  singing  the  music  of 

Hope 
Out    of    the  Heavens.  —  Rose-strewing    Poesy, 

now  I  have  need  of  thee, 
Smooth  down  the  furrows  once  more,  touching 

my  lips  with  thy  kiss. 

Such  is  the  metrical  movement  which  has  been 

attuning  my  thoughts  and  even  my  gait,  I  would 

believe,    for  a   number  of   days,    and    which  I 

have  been  transfusing  into  English.    The  curious 

fact    is   that   I    never    before    really    kuew    this 

meter ;  I  must  have  met  it,  but  I  never  entered 

into  it  with  the  least  appreciation  or  enjoyment. 

Yet  at  present  I  can  read  no   other  kind  of  verse 

but  this,  devouring  it  wherever   I  can  find  it  in 

Greek,  Latin,  and  German.      For  English  has 

none  of  it  worth  mentioning,  and  seeniingly  will 

none  of  it,  since  that   everlasting  Iambic  shuffle 

appears    to    satisfy   the    Anglo-Saxon     metrical 

sense.     But  now   begins,  in  my  soul  at  least  a 

play  of  rhythm  like  the  flow  of  the  folds    on  a 

Greek  statue,  or  the  gentle  plies  over  the  body 

of  Apollo  Belvedere ;    even  the    ripples   of    the 

ocean  are  brought  back  to  me  at  times  in  sportive 

wavelets  of  words. 

I  have  somehow  come  to  believe  that  I  have 
begun  to  find  my  expression  of  this  classic  world, 
which  I  have  pursued,  or  which  has  pursued  me 
ever  since  I  ran  upon  the  Elgin  Marbles  at  Lon- 


168  HOME. 

don.  Of  course  it  is  too  early  to  say  much,  and 
is  always  dangerous  to  prophesy,  but  the  thought 
haunts  me  that  one  main  purpose,  perhaps  the 
main  purpose  of  this  European  journey  has 
started  to  dawn  within,  or  to  pop  up  its  head 
above  the  surface  of  the  dark  inner  sea  of  un- 
conscious life.  At  any  rate  the  fit  is  on  me  and 
will  not  let  go  its  hold.  When  I  take  a  walk 
outside  the  walls  and  view  the  surrounding  hills, 
these  seem  to  rise  and  fall  in  a  metrical  cadence, 
and  to  be  making  classic  epigrams,  which  of 
course  I  try  to  catch  and  copy  down  in  my  note- 
book. What  a  peculiar  experience!  Little  rock- 
ing rhythms  come  pouring  around  me  out  of 
every  object  in  the  landscape,  from  the  river 
Tiber  to  the  Sabine  Mountains.  Eeally  I  deem 
myself  a  kind  of  sculptor,  moulding  playful 
little  statuettes,  called  epigrams,  out  of  words 
measured  and  ordered  into  shapes,  which  to  me 
at  least,  speak  with  a  classic  accent.  I  have  as 
yet  tried  them  upon  nobody,  and  naturally  am 
infatuated ;  you  are  the  first  person  to  see  them, 
and  if  you  were  here  you  would  have  no  peace 
from  these  tiny  teasing  sprites,  which  seem  to 
dart  out  of  the  air  every  whence.  Perhaps  you 
would  fight  them  off  as  if  they  were  an  army  of 
hornets,  or  possibly  you  would  take  to  your  heels. 
It  is  well  that  you  are  protected  by  ocean  and 
continent. 

Still  I  am  going  to  speed  at  you.  across    the 


A   TOUR  IX  EUROPE.  1G9 

mighty  waters  one  more  epigrammatic  dart,  or 
perchance  two  more,  bearing  a  little  note  about 
my  present  mood  in  reference  to  this  Roman 
workl  and  the  hanging  which  it  produces. 

Rome,  I  have  fed  with  peaceful  delight  on  thy 
honey  delicious. 
Daily   I  open  new  hives  built  in  the  ages  of 
yore; 
Dead  long  since  are  the  bees  that  gathered  these 
stores  of  enjoyment, 
Heliconian    swarm,  reared  on  the  flowers  of 
Greece. 
Still  the  sweet  structure  of  cunning  instinctive  is 
not  as  they  left  it, 
Broken  and  scattered  and  stained  are  all  the 
frairments  so  fair. 


e 


The  result  is  a  mighty  desire  comes  over  the 
soul  to  get  back  to  the  creative  source  of  this 
ruined  and  estranged  Art.  All  the  gralleries  of 
Rome  with  all  their  statuary  leave  at  last  the  im- 
pression of  a  Greek  torso,  yea  of  a  Greek  exile 
or  captive.  Can  we  not  complete  the  fragment 
and  set  free  the  prisoner,  in  our  mind  at  least? 
Back  beyond  Rome  the  spirit  waves  us,  which 
also  voices  itself  in  the  undulatin*;  roll  of  an 
epigram. 

List !   there  is  aught  in  these  marbles  that  hints 
of  an  ancient  estrangement. 


170  HOME. 

A  low  sigh  may  be  heard  out  of  the  heart  of 

the  stones : 
We  are  but  captives  taken  to  grace  a  conquerors 

triumph. 
Out  of  a  beautiful  world  which  we  had  made 

for  ourselves ; 
Here  our  lot  is  to  seem  and  to  serve  in  the  house 

of  a  master; 
O  for  our  Hellas  once  more,  O  for  our  freedom 

and  home ! 

Thus,  my  friend,  I  sigh  sympathetically  with 
the  stones  which  are  held  in  a  kind  of  captivity 
in  a  foreign  land  even  at  Rome.  What  I  already 
felt  at  London  and  also  at  Paris,  comes  over  me 
again  here,  to  my  surprise.  What  does  it  mean? 
No  end  of  this  journey  without  seeing  Hellas 
herself. 

Borne,  April  20th,  1878. 

To-day  is  Saturday  of  Holy  Week  and  the 
priest  has  just  sprinkled  holy  water  in  my  room, 
so  that  I  am  hopeful  of  beginning  this  letter  to 
you  under  good  influences;  no  evil  spirit  ought  to 
be  lurking  anywhere  around.  Every  room  in 
the  house  has  received  the  same  sacred  visitation, 
and  every  house  in  the  city,  so  that  the  demons, 
I  doubt  not,  have  been  pretty  well  driven  out  of 
Rome. 

Usually  it  is  said  that  eggs    are   given  to    the 


A  TOUn  ly  EUROPE,  171 

priest  on  this  occasion,  but  now  something  else 
is  substituted.  The  people  take  this  ceremony 
with  iiirht-hearted  humor,  chatting,  gesticulat- 
ing, laughing  during  its  performance,  and  once 
in  awhile  breaking  a  jest  at  the  expense  of  some 
good  old  saint.  Places  of  business  are  also 
visited,  and  I  hope  that  the  subtle  arch-fiend 
called  swindler,  who  seems  to  have  a  special 
emissary  in  many  shops  in  the  city,  has  been 
banished  forever   with  all  his  satellites. 

Ceremony  is  indeed  a  wonderful  power  here, 
and  the  taste  for  it  seems  almost  unaccountable 
to  our  Northern  natures.  Just  now  the  Italian 
women  of  the  house  are  chatting  in  the  sitting 
room,  all  speaking  together  with  every  variety  of 
gesture,  movements  of  the  shoulders,  contortions 
of  the  face;  they  are  complaining,  the  com- 
plaint being  that  the  priest  had  abridged  the  ex- 
ercises, that  is,  there  was  not  enough  ceremony. 
I  envy  their  light-hearted  dispositions,  it  is  indeed 
a  great  thing  in  this  world  to  be  able  to  trick 
the  dark  powers  with  a  rite.  My  devils  are  far 
more  obstinate,  in  fact  they  seem  often  to  be 
made  worse  by  ceremony.  My  chambermaid,  a 
simple  old  Italian  woman,  told  me  that  she 
needed  only  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  on 
her  breast  to  put  to  flight  all  evil  spirits.  I  have 
no  doubt  but  that  she  tohl  the  truth,  and  in  my 
opinion  it  would  bo  doing  her  the  greatest  in- 
jury possible  to  take  away  from    her,  or   in  the 


172  ROME. 

least  impair  the  power  of  such  an  instrument. 
But  alas,  in  my  hands  it  will  not  work,  it  only 
enrages  the  demons  the  more;  and,  however 
much  I  may  sigh  for  it  at  times,  1  know  that  it 
is  be3^ond  my  reach. 

Doubtless  the  reconciliation  of  the  soul  with 
itself  is  the  supreme  practical  object  of  religion, 
and  any  religion  that  is  able  to  do  that  work  for 
man  may  be  pronounced  good  and  holy.  There 
is  a  strong  propagandism  going  on  here  now,  es- 
pecially on  the  part  of  the  American  Protes- 
tant missionaries.  I  say  it  not  so  much  to  you 
as  to  myself,  a  change  of  faith  would  only  work 
evil.  The  people  find  reconciliation  in  the  present 
religious  forms,  hence  are  happy  —  why  so  much 
worry  to  give  them  that  which  they  have  al- 
ready, if  indeed  they  would  have  anything 
equally  good  by  changing  them?  To  cloud  this 
bright  Italian  nature,  so  joyous  and  unburdened, 
with  the  dark  questionings  of  the  Teutonic 
race,  would  be  like  spreading  over  the  sunny 
skies  of  Italy  the  fogs  of  the  German  Ocean. 
Do  we  not  flee  out  of  the  North  to  this  clear 
atmosphere  to  get  rid  of  Chaos  and  old  Night  a 
little  while?  For  my  part  here  I  have  been  com- 
pelled to  say  even  to  Philosophy,  my  sweet  mis- 
tress, "stand  out  of  my  sunshine."  I  do  not 
want  a  shadow  cast  over  me ;  I  would  hate  even 
the  mighty  shape  of  Alexander,  if  it  should  place 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  173 

itself  now  between  uie  living  in  my  happy  tub 
and  this  Italian  lunnnary. 

I  go  through  with  these  ceremonies  sometimes, 
when  I  can  with  respect  due  to  the  Church 
and  my  own  conscience;  often  I  witness  them. 
But  there  is  alwaj's  a  demon  whispering  in  my 
ear,  what  does  it  all  mean?  And  unless  I  can 
give  some  account  of  the  ceremony  to  my  intel- 
ligence, 1  get  no  benefit.  For,  think  I  to  my- 
self, this  rite  must  be  an  expression  to  human 
spirit,  and  hence  must  possess  some  inner  spir- 
itual significance.  It  is  therefore  a  symbol ;  but 
a  symbol  of  what?  It  manifestly  has  spoken 
gently,  yet  deeply,  to  thousands  of  hearts  for 
thousands  of  years — but  what  has  it  said?  All 
honest  human  utterance  should  command  re- 
spect, but  here  is  a  divine  utterance  command- 
ing my  obedience,  yet  its  dialect  I  have  still  to 
learn. 

All  this  is  doubtless  the  Work  of  one  of  the 
aforesaid  demons  who  plague  me,  by  not  per- 
mitting me  to  take  these  things  on  Faith,  So 
these  ceremonies,  instead  of  spreading  their 
sweet  influences  over  my  emotions  imniediatel}', 
have  first  to  pass  through  my  understand- 
ing where  they  often  get  entangled  and  lost. 
To  reach  the  heart  they  have  to  go  by  way 
of  the  head — a  circuitous  and  often  perilous 
route.  Still  there  are  some  things  that  I  un- 
derstand  and    enjoy    in    these    religious    rites; 


174  ROME. 

time  and  patience,  I  hope,  will  open  their 
meaning  more  fully  and  bring  them  to  speak 
more  directly  to  the  feelings.  Herein  I  am 
aided  by  an  Italian  maid  who  tells  me  the 
Jegends  of  the  virgins  and  the  saints  with  a 
simple  grace  and  natural 'delight,  revealing  how 
the  unpreoccupied  heart  receives  without  ques- 
tion these  tilings    and  is  transformed    by  them. 

Also  to  Art  the  same  principle  applies ;  it  must 
be  felt  immediately,  it  must  be  seen  to  be  an 
utterance  which  is  to  be  read  at  once  in  its  own 
native  letters  and  not  by  the  roundabout  way  of 
the  understandino^.  This  is  the  eternal  healing 
influence  of  an  Italian  journey  —  it  throws  you, 
feverish  as  you  are,  into  the  fountain  of  nature, 
and  compels  you  to  feel  her  freshness  just  as  she 
bubbles  out  of  the  vems  of  the  maternal  Earth. 
What  better  cure  for  the  over-cultivation  and 
excessive  speculative  tendency  of  certain  individ- 
uals, nations,  ages,  races!  Art,  however,  speaks 
now  more  winningly  and  more  clearly  to  me 
than  Religion  —  whereof  the  fault  is  my  own.  But 
this  letter  threatens  to  run  off  into  invisible 
space,  even  here  in  the  transparent  skies  of 
Italy  —  so  let  it  be  reined-in  to  a  sudden  stop. 

Tell  your  lady  friend  that  Don  Gregorio  Pal- 
mieri,  to  whom  she  gave  me  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction, sends  her  his  kindest  regards.  I  have 
been  in  his  cell  at  San  Paolo  fuori  le  Mura, 
where   I    saw    her  autograph    among    those    of 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  175 

cardinals  and  many  diirnitarics  of  the  Church  — 
some  being  written  in  Armenian  and  other 
Oriental  tongues. 

Ro7ne,  April  21st,  1878. 

I  find  that  it  is  five  weeks  since  the  date  of  my 
last  letter  to  you,  and  in  that  time  I  have  heard 
nothing  from  you.  I  have  received  your  first 
three  letters,  and  when  I  am  lonely,  I  take  them 
out  of  my  drawer  and  read  them  over  again,  at 
the  same  time  recalling  a  lively  image  of  your- 
self in  some  friendly  conversation.  Now  I  have 
given  you  a  lengthy  respite  from  letter-writing, 
but  to-day  I  am  going  to  trouble  you  again.  In 
the  long  run  friendship  has  to  be  paid  for,  in  one 
kind  of  treasure  or  another;  your  payment  at 
present,  in  epistolary  paper,  is  doubtless  some- 
what burdensome  and  in  excess  of  the  value  of 
the  articles  received ;  but  I  know  that  you  will 
meet  the  demand. 

I  have  changed  my  quarters  from  the  indiffer- 
ent inn  where  I  was  lodged  at  first  and  where  I 
stayed  more  than  a  month,  to  a  private  house. 
The  improvement  in  comfort  is  considerable,  still 
more,  there  is  a  cozy  home-like  feeling  here  which 
is  refreshing.  There  are  no  other  lodgers  —  a 
great  blessing;  besides,  many  little  details  of  the 
housewife  meet  the  eye,  which  are  entirely  want- 
ing in  a  Hotel,  such  as  brackets,  neat  curtains 
for   the  window,    pleasing    pictures  on  the  wall 


176  HOME. 

and  chiefly  the  bed  with  its  various  appurte- 
nances. Nor  should  I  for  get  the  image  of  the 
thorn-crowned  Christ,  carved  in  high  relief, 
which  is  hung  over  my  bed ;  while  painted  on 
the  head-board  of  the  bed  is  the  image 
of  the  Dove  with  out-spread  wings  —  symbol 
of  the  Holy  Ghost.  These  images  are  potent  in 
driving  away  the  evil  spirits,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
good  hostess;  so  they  are  in  truth,  for  I  never 
look  at  them  without  thinking  of  her  solicitude 
for  my  welfare ;  in  such  an  atmosphere  no  bad 
spirit  like  unhcippiness  ought  to  find  anything  to 
breathe,  since  all  that  the  eye  rests  on  utters  a 
prayer  for  my  well-being. 

My  economical  affairs  are  also  satisfactory  now 
for  the  first  time  since  my  arrival.  I  have  suc- 
ceeded in  reducing  my  immediate  expenses,  by 
which  I  mean  board  and  lodging,  to  something 
less  than  sixty  cents  a  day.  To  be  sure  other 
outlays  have  to  be  made,  the  greatest  one  being 
for  books — ^  as  herein  I  do  not  stint  myself  of 
any  work  really  necessary.  One  has  to  learn  the 
art  of  living  cheaply  and  well;  I  certainly  feel 
the  want  of  no  kind  of  food ;  I  dine  for  about 
eighteen  to  twenty  cents,  four  courses,  wine 
included.  But  just  the  proper  restaurant  must  be 
found,  which  requires  some  search. 

To  be  sure,  I  do  not  like  to  pinch  so  close,  I 
would  prefer  apartments,  and  elegant  dinners 
at  the  best  hotels  of  the  city,   but  so  I  cannot 


A    TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  177 

live  and  accomplish  my  purpose  at  the  same 
time.  It  grows  daily  more  probable  that  I  shall 
prolong  my  stay  in  iMirope  till  next  year,  unless 
something  very  urujent  calls  me  home  to 
America.  This  will  require  a  careful  husband- 
ing of  all  the  resources  which  I  possess.  It  is 
my  boast  that  I  always  attain  my  end  by  forcing 
the  means,  however  weak  it  may  be,  to  do  its 
duty.  So  I  intend  to  make  the  same  sum  of 
money  last  ten  months  or  twenty,  according  to 
my  purpose.  Most  people  get  into  entangle 
ment  with  their  instruments  ana  so  never  reach 
their  end ;  I  hope  that  I  may  always  keep  myself 
out  of  that  company. 

In  the  last  month  I  have  been  doing  a  variety 
of  things,  some  of  which  would  doubtless  seem 
ridiculous  to  you.  Anything  to  give  practice  to 
my  eye  and  to  drill  into  me  the  sense  of  form, 
be  it  puerile  or  laborious  or  undignified,  I  hunt 
for  and  work  at.  I  trace  lines,  try  to  draw, 
making  pictures  which  my  little  Alice  would 
laugh  at.  These  last  few  days  I  have  stayed  at 
home  and  read  poetry  —  and  made  some  too. 
Did  you  ever  really  dive  into  Goethe's  Roman 
Elegies?  They  are  very  fine,  especially  with  the 
delicious  fragrance  of  Roman  Art  to  breathe  in. 
I  even  went  back  and  read  the  old  Roman  poet, 
whom  he  imitated,  Propertius.  Many  new 
ideas  about  poetry  dawned  upon  me,  partic- 
ularly   the  relation    of     the     old    classic   Poets 

12 


178  HOME. 

to  the  world  of  Art  amid  which  they  were 
phiced.  It  is  clear  that  they  often  described 
merely  the  beautiful  works  of  Statuary  and 
Painting  before  their  eyes  daily,  hence  often  the 
distinctness  of  the  former.  Still  Poetry  ought 
to  go  before  Plastic  Art  and  give  to  it  the  shapes 
which  it  employs.  So  Homer  is  really  the  cre- 
ator of  Sculpture  in  Greece,  as  of  nearly  every- 
thins:  else.  In  fact  the  more  you  study  these 
statues  here  at  Rome,  the  more  you  are  driven 
backwards  to  the  Greek  originals,  till  finally  you 
are  compelled  to  take  your  Homer  into  your 
hand  and  read  him  again.  New  delight  and  new 
thoughts  attend  you,  for  now  you  see  his  Gods 
springing,  as  itwere,  into  white  marble,  you  pass 
through  thousands  of  galleries  filled  with  beauti- 
ful forms  on  lofty  pedestals.  His  legends  you 
now  read  as  so  many  reliefs  placed  in  the  frieze 
of  some  ancient  temple.  Homer  turns  into  a 
gallery  of  sculpture ;  we  pass,  just  as  ancient 
Greece  did,  from  poetical  to  plastic  shapes,  the 
epoch  of  actual  historj^  2,500  years  ago  becomes 
a  part  of  our  history,  is  an  epoch  in  our  soul- 
life.  So  in  truth  ought  all  history  to  be  taken 
up  within  us ;  the  struggle  of  culture  is  just  this  : 
to  resume  in  ourselves  as  individuals  the  entire 
spiritual  treasures  of  mankind  —  each  person  is 
to  be  all  that  his  race  has  been.  So  the  old  Bard 
has  aijain  taken  strong  hold  of  me  —  he  now 
produces  a  more  creative    impression  than  any 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  179 

other  poet.  Recently  I  read  the  last  book  ol  the 
Iliad  —  Shakespeare  never  stirred  me  as  deeply. 
Homer  is  a  ideal  Greek  Temple  of  the  finest  Greek 
Architecture,  filled  with  statues  of  the  Gods  and 
Heroes,  with  walls  decorated  in  relief  and  with 
paintings  which  portray  the  great  deeds  of  the 
Greek  race. 

Rome,  April  28th,  1878. 

Your  excuses  for  delay  are  good,  I  accept  them 
in  full  for  all  past  delinquency.  How  can  I  help 
acquitting  you  when  you  plead  your  case  so 
well?  Truly  Minos  would  relent  from  his  sever- 
ity, and  he,  you  know,  was  an  Infernal  Judge. 
Nor  is  it  without  pleasure  for  me  to  have  young 
ladies  walk  up  to  my  tribunal  and  ask  for  mercy. 
Still,  don't  commit  the  offense  again,  for  it  is 
a  still  greater  pleasure  to  receive  your  letters 
than  your  excuses.  Besides,  your  delay  causes 
me  to  reproach  myself;  I  thought  perhaps  that 
two  or  three  somewhat  free  expressions  which 
m}i  pen  suffered  to  run  out  along  with  the  ink, 
may  have  given  a  little  too  strong  a  shock  for 
comfort.  Now  my  tears  are  dispelled,  and  I 
shall  try  to  keep  a  double-bitted  bridle  on  my 
goose  quill  hereafter. 

I  am  sorry  to  lose  one  contribution  to  the 
letter ;  still  more  sorry  to  hear  that  the  cause  is 
illness.  Send  the  young  lady  to  Rome  —  that 
will   cure  her,   and  the    medicine  is  pleasant  to 


180  ROME. 

take.  Indeed  young  ladies  have  been  knewn  to 
take  it  without  being  sick  at  all.  Send  her  to 
Rome  —  I  shall  receive  her  with  open  arms  (fig- 
uratively I  mean).  Think  of  it  —  in  a  fortnight 
with  good  luck  she  can  be  here.  Perhaps  she 
will  be  able  to  write  a  line  in  the  next  letter  — 
just  a  line,  telling  me  how  she  does.  But  it 
pains  me  to  think  of  that  sunbeam  darkened  by 
disease. 

Just  at  this  moment  a  peculiar  'problem  is 
vexinof  me :  it  is,  what  is  making  that  noise  on 
the  floor  over  my  head?  One  o'clock  at  night  it 
is  and  after;  nobody  is  said  to  occupy  the  room 
up  there ;  absolute  stillness  reigns  everywhere 
but  in  that  corner —  rap,  rap,  rap,  at  intervals  of 
a  few  moments,  then  it  stops  entirely  for  an  hour 
or  so.  Animals  I  have  imagined  of  every  kind  — 
mice,  rats,  cats,  dogs  —  but  there  is  too  much 
method  in  it  for  any  such  theory.  I  would  like 
to  go  up  there  and  investigate,  but  this  would 
rouse  two  families  from  their  repose.  There  it 
is  again-  rap,  rap,  rap,  sometimes  very  quick  and 
loud,  sometimes  slow  and  indistinct.  What  can 
it  bei*  Some  disembodied  spirit  that  has  fol- 
lowed me  from  America  and  wants  to  communi- 
cate to  me  important  news?  It  is  the  witching 
time  of  night  when  ghosts  are  let  out  of  their 
tombs,  I  wish  I  could  get  a  little  nearer  to  it» 
and  find  out  whetlierit  has  a  natural  cause  (which 
is  the  case,  I  strongly  suspect)  or  a  supernatural 


A   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  181 

origin.  When  I  iiui  writing  at  my  desk,  it  is 
over  my  bead ;  wiien  I  lie  down  on  my  bed,  it 
still  seems  to  be  over  my  head,  following  me 
around;  this  may  be  a  delusion,  however.  It 
often  wakes  me  up  in  the  night  with  its  rappings ; 
if  it  be  a  spirit,  it  is  very  importunate.  I  spoke 
to  my  landlady  about  it,  jocosely  suggesting  the 
theory  of  discinl)odied  spirits — this  led  me  to 
give  her  a  long  account  of  the  spiritual  rappings 
of  America;  since  then  she  has  complained  of 
her  dreams.  But  the  old  domestic  has  the  best 
way  of  getting  rid  of  the  demons  —  when  she 
enters  on  the  threshold  of  my  room,  she  makes 
the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  her  body;  so,  she 
says,  the  devil  himself  uiil  l)e  put  to  flight  with 
a  growl  and  gnashing  of  teeth.  —  Rap,  rap,  raj), 
again!  What,  returned  so  soon,  old  Flibberti- 
gibbet? Well,  I  shall  go  to  bed,  I  am  too  tired 
to  begin  a  new  page,  to-uionow  I  shall  finish  this 
letter  with  something  else.  But  what  can  be  the 
cause  of  that  rai)ping? 

The  chief  object  of  inv  admiration  amono-  the 
many  kinds  of  visitors  at  Rome,  is  my  country 
women.  Two  classes  of  them  appear  here:  the 
rich,  who  are  the  best  dressers  in  the  world;  and 
the  poorer,  distinguished  by  their  energy  and  in- 
telligence. Oh,  the  inevitable  Yankee  woman! 
here  will  you  meet  her,  red  guide-book  in  hand, 
dress  tucked  up,  delight  and  appreciation  in  her 
face;  in  the  streets,  in  the  churches,  in  the  gal- 


182  BOME. 

leries,  among  the  ruins,  she  is  everywhere,  an  in- 
defiitigable,  untameablo  woman,  never  before  seen 
on  this  planet,  I  believe.      Most  of  them  I  take 
to  be  schoolmams,  having  earned  their  money  by 
their  own  industry ;   after  hoarding   it  for  years, 
now    they    are    spending    it    in    the    realization 
of  a  longr-cherished  dream.     Look  at  her  —  she 
seems    to     fly    along    the    Corso     toward     the 
Forum,    victory  laughing  in  every  feature ;   two 
or  three   generally  togeth  er,  no  man  visible  or 
wanted.      To-day  they  are  the  most  enthusiastic 
and  appreciative  visitors  of  Kome  ;   for  have  they 
not  studied  up  every   point  in  Art,  History  and 
even  Topography  far  off  in  Yankeeland,  in  pre- 
paration for  the  journey  here?     The  European 
woman  smks  into  insignificance  beside  her,  none 
are  to  be  fouud  like  her,  excepting  a  few  English 
imitators    and    still    fewer    German    imitators. 
Alas !    says  my  Italian  landlady,  I  would  like  to 
do  so  too,  but  it   would  cost   an  Italian  woman 
her  fair  name.     I  know    it  would ;   the  Yankee 
woman  alone  dares  undertake  such  an  adventure; 
yet  nobody  breathes  a  suspicion  against  her,  for 
she  would  take  your  fine  ladies'    man  and  hang 
him  upon  a  peg  as  Chrimheld  did  Siegfried.    Yet 
the  women  here  would  all  like  to  do  so,  and  they 
see  often  with   envy,  in  the  Yankee  schoolmam, 
the  realization  of  their  own  secret  aspiration. 

But    also    in    the  education  of    women,   Italy 
claims  historical  precedence.     I  was  lately  read- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  183 

ing  an  article  on  the  fuinous  literary  women  of 
Bologna,  in  whose  University  women  were  ad- 
mitted both  as  students  and  professors  far  back 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  In  the  14th  century  was 
the  young  lady,  Novella  d'Andrea,  Professor  of 
the  Civil  Law,  equally  famous  for  her  learning 
and  beauty.  It  is  said  that  she  had  to  teach 
with  a  curtain  before  her  face,  to  shield  her 
youthful  listeners  from  the  distraction  caueed 
by  her  personal  appearance.  Is  not  some  such 
thing  needed  in  the  High  School?  But  the  most 
famous  of  these  female  professors  at  Bologna  was 
Laura  Bassi,  who  belonged  only  to  the  last  cen- 
tury. This  was  certainly  the  most  wonderful 
woman  that  I  ever  read  of,  if  the  aforesaid 
article  tells  me  the  truth  :  "  she  publicly  discussed 
philosophy  in  the  Latin  tongue  without  prepara- 
tion, she  won  victories  over  the  most  eminent  pro- 
fessors at  the  age  of  twenty,  she  was  one  of  the 
most  eminent  teachers  in  Europe,  was  a  great 
poetess,  sewed,  wove  and  embroidered  beauti- 
fully, as  well  as  attended  to  her  household,  and 
besides  giving  her  daily  instructions  in  the  Uni- 
versity for  twenty-eight  years,  she  found  time 
to  have  a  husband  and  twelve  sons."  That 
beats  the  Yankee  schoolmam,  for  this  last 
accomplishment,  it  must  be  confessed  v^ith 
humiliation,  she  does  not  possess. 

Yesterday  I  went  to  the  first  social  gathering 
since  my  arrival  in  Europe.     Davidson  who  has 


1^4:  HOME. 

beeu  here  some  weeks  and  is  very  friendly,  con- 
ducted me  to  the  reception  of  an  American  lady, 
whose  apartments  are  quite  a  resort  for  all 
American  visitors,  I  find.  She  has  delightful 
rooms,  lives  in  a  luxurious,  dreamy  way,  sur- 
rounded by  works  of  Art,  and  takes  pleasure  in 
receiving  friends  and  strangers  from  her  native 
country.  She  must  be  an  interesting  character 
but  I  do  not  know  her  yet  well  enough  to  tell 
you  about  her.  She  is  somewhat  advanced  in 
years  —  no  danger. 

Borne,  May  8th,  1878. 

Can  you  re-make  the  face  for  this  torso  of 
Hercules?  This  I  ask  myself  sitting  before  the 
famous  piece  of  a  statute  so  named  in  the  Vati- 
can Museum.  It  is  headless,  armless,  almost  leg- 
less ;  the  larger  part  of  two  huge  thighs  remaining. 
Yet  it  has  received  the  highest  admiration  from 
Winckelmann  down  to  the  present.  But  the  ques- 
tion how  it  shall  be  completed,  has  had  very 
different  answers.  The  problem  runs:  given  the 
trunk  and  two  thighs,  in  what  way  is  the  entire 
form  of  the  hero  called  Hercules  to  be  recon- 
structed? Thus  it  calls  up  a  very  suggestive 
exercise  in  creative  sculpture ;  from  a  part  one  is 
to  re-make  in  idea  the  whole;  out  of  this  frag- 
ment one  is  to  see  growing  as  it  were  the  legs, 
arms,    head,    face    with    its  look,  and  then  the 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  185 

significant  attitude  of  the  entirety.  I  have  tested 
myself  a  good  deal  in  the  presence  of  this  torso, 
and  iiave  dreamed  away  hours  generating  it  anew 
from  its  original  conception.  Such  a  practice 
has  its  yalue,  if  one  seeks  to  recover  the  creative 
center  of  this  art  of  the  statuary  and  also  of  this 
sculpturesque  world. 

But,  my  friend,  I  do  not  propose  to  serve  up 
in  this  letter  an  essay  upon  the  torso  of  Her- 
cules, but  rather,  in  accord  with  my  promise  to 
y(m,  to  let  you  see  what  I  am  about  and  the  way 
in  which  I  go  at  it.  You  may  not  care  to  see 
the  statue,  but  I  know  that  you  do  care  to  see 
Snider  seeing  the  statue.  Well,  I  have  given 
you  now  a  little  glimpse  of  myself  doing  my 
chief  task  here  at  Rome  as  far  as  I  can  judge  of 
it  myself. 

Still  there  is  another  point  connected  with  this 
subject  in  which  I  think  you  will  be  interested 
for  its  own  sake.  The  Greeks  in  their  Myth- 
ology represented  three  kinds  or  conditions  of 
Hercules:  the  mortal  Hero  full  of  labors  on 
earth;  the  immortal  Hero  in  Hades,  still  with  his 
btnvand  arrows  for  slaying  monsters — Hercules  as 
supersensible  form  (eidolon);  finally  the  Olym- 
pian Hercules  who  has  been  taken  to  the  gods 
and  dwells  among  them  on  Olympus  in  happy 
repose.  All  three  stages  of  this  greatest  of 
Greek  Heroes  (often  called  a  demi-god)  are  dis- 
tinctly   indicated  by    Homer  toward  the  end  of 


186  BO  ME. 

the  Eleventh  Book  of  the  Odyssey.  It  is  my 
decided  opinion  that  the  present  torso  represents 
the  third  Hercules.  Moreover  I  would  fain  be- 
lieve that  the  probable  time  of  its  origin,  the 
first  century  B.  C.  at  Athens,  is  hinted  in  the 
statue  —  the  Greek  world  is  no  longer  alive  and 
free,  but  has  been,  as  it  were,  transferred  and 
transfigured  into  an  Olympian  peace  and  con- 
templation. 

Now  for  another  thought  upon  the  present 
theme.  The  statue  of  Hercules  has  drawn  me 
to  his  legend,  out  which  so  many  works  of  art, 
epic,  dramatic,  plastic,  graphic,  sprang  in  the 
prime  of  Hellas.  The  fact  of  his  double 
parentage  —  a  divine  father,  Zeus,  and  a  mortal 
mother,  Alcmena  —  entices  the  mind  to  query 
Avhat  this  occurrence,  oft  repeated  in  the  mythus 
of  peoples,  means.  The  result  was  I  scratched 
down  in  the  presence  of  the  torso  the  following 
little  epigram,  in  Greek  style  and  measure: 

Hercules   had  two  fathers,  a  mortal  and  an  im- 
mortal ; 
So  had  Theseus  bold,  Attica's  pride  and  de- 
fense ; 
So  has  every  Hero,  filled  with  mighty  endeavor; 
He  is  the  child  of  some  God  stealthily  gliding 
to  Earth. 

The  Greek  Anthology,  which  I  am  now  read- 
ing,  has    many    such    epigrams,  or  inscriptions 


U 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  187 

upon  famous  statues.  The  mortal  husband  of 
Alcmena  was  also  regarded  as  the  father  of  Her- 
cules, though  legend  emphasizes  the  divine 
element  in  him  as  comiiig  from  the  Supreme 
God.  The  grand  mystery  of  genius  born  of  the 
huml)le^t  parents,  and  in  turn  begetting  the 
humblest  children,  long  ago  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  myth-making  fancy,  which  sought  to 
account  for  it  by  a  miraculous  supernal  relation. 
Out  of  this  theme,  too,  I  have  spun  a  little  epi- 
gram, which  I  am  going  to  send  you.  Here  it 
is: 

Why  is  the  father  of  Heroes  often  the  weakest 
of  mortals? 
Why  so  seldom  the  sons  have  the  endowment 
divine? 
Some  invisible  strand  winds  through  our  domes- 
tic relation ; 
Which    reaching   up    to   the    Gods,    draws   a 
Promethean  spark. 
Two  are  the  households  of  man,  and  his  kinship 
ever  is  dwuble. 
To  an  Olympian   hearth,  though  here  below, 
he  belongs. 

In  this  way  I  am  trying  to  view  the  sculptur- 
esque world  with  the  eye  and  mind  of  a  Greek, 
throwing  off  uiy  shreds  of  thoughts  into  little 
bits  of  verse  after  the  anti(|ue  pattern.  The 
consciousness    which   generated    this    people    of 


188  ROME. 

multitudinous  statues,  as  the  expression  of  an 
actual  people,  is  what  I  would  gladly  experience 
and  appropriate,  in  order  to  carry  it  with  me  to 
my  home  across  the  ocean,  and  then  show  it  to 
you. 

Already  in  the  Louvre  at  Paris  before  the 
Venus  of  Milo  I  began  to  propound  to  myself 
the  question:  Can  you  complete  her?  Have  you 
developed  the  creative  thought  of  her  to  the 
point  of  seeing  it  reproduce  her  missing  arms? 
In  like  manner  the  Apollo  Belvedere  which  is  a 
restored  statue,  compels  the  mind  to  a  new  res- 
toration of  the  work.  You  will  easily  understand 
whither  this  re-creation  of  statues  leads.  It 
does  not  stop  till  one  is  able  to  re-create  in  him- 
self the  consciousness  from  which  they  all 
sprang;  in  fine  through  sculpture  he  must  reach 
back  to  and  commune  with  that  original  Greek 
spirit  out  of  which  arose  Art,  Poetry,  Litera- 
ture, Science,  out  of  which  indeed  Europe  itself 
was  born  into  civilization.  The  problem  with 
me  now  is,  Can  I  get  back  to  that  genetic  source, 
to  that  primordial  fountain-head,  and  take  a  dip 
there?  Then  a  European  journey  may  mean  to 
return  from  America  to  our  starting-point  not 
merely  in  European  Space,  but  also  in  European 
Time,  and  thus  to  travel  through  our  total  Euro- 
pean origin. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  189 

Ro)ne,  May  9th,  1878. 

You,  whom  I  have  never  seen,  were  the  first 
man  outside  my  own  little  circle  at  St.  Louis,  to 
recoojnize  my  Shakespeare  work,  years  ago, 
when  it  first  began  to  ap{)ear  in  the  Journal  of 
Speculative  Philosophy.  Now  when  these  ef- 
forts of  mine  have  been  gathered  into  a  book, 
it  is  very  gratifying  to  find  you,  who  have  de- 
voted your  life  to  Shakespeare,  and,  on  many 
sides  know  more  of  the  subject  than  I  do,  com- 
ing forward  with  even  a  greater  appreciation 
than  before.  I  have  often  wondered  how  so 
much  knowledge  and  interest  could  spring  up  in 
Zanesville. 

I  received  your  very  cordial  letter  some  time 
ago,  but  through  a  variety  of  distractions  I  have 
been  unable  to  answer  it  till  now.  This  is  a 
world  wholly  new  to  me,  and  I  had  to  get  some- 
what settled  in  it  before  attending  much  to  other 
things.  Two  months,  however,  make  me  feel 
quite  at  home;  the  streets  are  getting  as  familiar 
as  those  of  my  own  St.  Louis,  and  even  the  ruins 
which  at  first  kept  pulling  me  in  every  direc- 
tion, are  now  beginning  to  relax  their  grip  upon 
my  attention.  I  am  lodged  not  far  from  the  Fou- 
tana  di  Trevi,  well  known  in  history  and  romance  ; 
but  the  same  thing  can  be  said  of  nearly 
everything  that  you  brush  against.  Judge  of  my 
situation :   I  am   suddenly  transferred  from    the 


190 


ROME. 


newest  part  of  the  newest  country  of  the  world 
to  the  very  old  city  of  Rome;  at  once  its 
entire  past  springs  up  before  the  mind  and- 
insists  upon  being  recognized  and  understood. 
Three  centres  of  interest  group  themselves 
around  you :  Ancient  Rome,  Papal  Rome  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  Modern  Rome,  the  capital  of 
new-born  Italy.  Each  of  these  is  further  sub- 
divided into  a  thousand  lesser  parts,  all  of  which 
have  some  special  look  of  enticement  for  the 
student.  As  for  me,  I  have  as  yet.  been  able 
to  pay  attention  only  to  some  galleries  of  an- 
cient sculpture  —  a  very  small  fragment  of  an- 
cient Rome.  You  will,  perhaps,  be  surprised  at 
what  I  am  doing,  and  ask,  "Why  dost  thou, 
barbarian  from  the  backwoods  of  America, 
spend  thy  time  in  studying  Sculpture,  an  Art 
hardly  belonging  to  the  modern  world?"  I 
would  answer,  because  I  conceive  it  to  mani- 
fest Form  better  than  any  other  fine  Art,  bet- 
ter than  all  other  fine  Arts  put  together.  It  is 
wholly  Form,  Form  indeed,  in  its  one-sidedness, 
since  it  is  defective  in  the  internal  or  subjective 
element.  I  do  not  want  to  fall  into  philoso- 
phizing here  in  this  friendly  letter;  but  you  will 
understand  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  been 
driven  to  Rome  to  cultivate  and  possibly  to 
gratify  my  sense  of  Form  —  this  is  as  near  as  I 
can  give  expression  to  my  object.  During  many 
years  I  have  felt  great  longing  to  come  here  — 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  191 

behold  its  fulfillment.  Whether  I  shall  derive 
that  profit  which  I  hope  for  is  a  question  be- 
longing to  the  future. 

Let  me  state  another  ground.  The  funda- 
mental principle  of  Sculpture  is  Repose  —  divine 
Repose  ;  thus  it  is  in  the  most  direct  contradiction 
to  our  American  life.  Eternal  Hurry  is  rather  our 
principle,  rushing,  dashing,  crushing  if  you  don't 
get  out  of  my  way  —  so  we  go.  What  a  blessed 
thing  in  such  a  raging  fever  is  a  little  Repose! 
or  to  look  at  it  embodied  in  a  God !  The  best 
medicine  that  I  know  of  for  the  American  people 
would  be  a  dose  of  Greek  Heathendom  with  its 
sunshine  and  rest.  Great  is  energy  and  by  no 
means  to  be  cast  away,  but  it  must  not  be  fev- 
erish or  crazy.  Look  at  that  face  of  Olympian 
Jove,  the  cloud-compeller;  let  it  sink  into  your 
soul  and  transform  you,  for  it  can  regenerate 
you;  it  has  an  absolute  serenity,  yet  behind  this 
serenity  there  is  felt  to  be  absolute  power. 
Serene  power —  if  one  could  only  get  that  boon, 
it  is  worth  all  others  put  together. 

But  the  trouble  is,  this  spirit  cannot  be  ac- 
quired in  a  few  days  or  even  in  a  few  months. 
It  is  a  great  transformation ;  as  it  takes  the  body 
seven  years  to  change  completely,  in  a  like  man- 
ner we  may  suppose  the  soul  to  proceed  slowly 
in  its  mutations.  I  have  not  come  to  Rome 
merely  to  load  my  memory  with  facts  or  to  stare 
at  the  ruins  for  a  short  time ;  I  may  be  utterly 


192  ROME. 

foolish  in  my  purpose,  but  it  is  my  effort  at 
least  to  bring  everything  home  to  my  feelings, 
to  hear  what  the  spirit  of  a  monument  or  of  an 
artistic  product  says.  Failing  the  first  time  I  have 
often  to  repeat  my  visits,  and  as  it  were  to  caress 
the  secret  out  of  the  refractory  Goddess. 
What  do  you  think?  I  have  some  interpreta- 
tions of  statues  and  some  of  structures  which 
proceed  somewhat  like  the  interpretation  of  a 
play  of  Shakespeare.  The  thought,  the  organi- 
zation, the  arrangement  are  all  to  be  considered. 
But  since  the  form  of  such  a  work  is  very  differ- 
ent from  that  of  a  play,  its  laws  and  limits  are 
different.  Yet  a  Greek  temple  hangs  together 
by  as  strict  a  procedure  as  any  poem. 

Perhaps  now  I  have  given  you  a  general  idea 
of  my  pursuits,  of  which  for  the  present  I  shall 
spare  you  further  details.  Hereafter  I  may  be 
able  to  tell  you  something  more  and  better. 
Doubtless  you  think  that  I  have  become  a  rene- 
gade to  your  great  idol,  Shakespeare.  I  hope 
not.  But  I  do  feel  that  for  the  present  I  have 
done  my  best  for  Shakespeare,  and  he  has  done 
his  best  for  me.  Later  I  shall  without  question 
resume  the  study  of  his  works  with  new  pleasure, 
and  I  hope  with  new  insight;  but  the  time  had 
come  for  me  to  take  a  fresh  and  different  draught, 
and  to  look  into  forms  of  Art  to  which  his  works 
stand  in  emphatic  contrast.  He  is  still  to  me 
the  greatest  name  among  writers;   Homer  alone 


A  TOUR  IN-  EUROPE.  193 

stands  a  chance  of  sharing  the  palm  equally 
with  him.  When  one  comes  into  these  South- 
ern countries,  Homer  increases  in  significance, 
while  Sh:ikes})eaie  dwindles  to  smaller  propor- 
tions. The  English  poet  is  still  not  naturalized 
among  the  Latin  nations;  here  at  Rome  he  is 
hardly  more  then  a  portentous  Northern  shadow. 
On  the  other  hand,  Homer  is  certainly  natural- 
ized among  the  Teutonic  races;  so  he  is  at  pres- 
ent the  more  universal  poet,  and  universality  is 
assuredly  one  of  the  chief  tests  of  greatness.  I 
have  hardly  spoken  of  Shakespeare  since  I  have 
been  in  Rome,  though  the  city  is  full  of  Ameri- 
cans and  English.  They,  however,  are  either 
absorbed  in  pleasure  or  in  acquiring  the  peculiar 
culture  which  is  to  be  found  only  here. 

Also  I  have  tried  to  foro;et  that  I  am  the 
author  of  a  book;  I  mean  that  I  have  tried  not 
to  think  of  it,  and  not  to  worry  myself  about  its 
success  or  failure.  I  have  heard  not  a  word  from 
the  publisher  concerning  its  prospects.  I  have  not 
read  a  single  criticism  upon  it,  except  a  few  para- 
graphs incidentally  sent  me  by  friends.  I  am  in 
total  ignorance  concerning  its  reception,  but  I 
judge  that  it  has  created  little  stir  by  the  silence 
of  my  letters  from  home,  which  would  be  apt  to 
say  something  if  there  was  anything  to  say.  So 
you  see  I  cannot  answer  your  friendly  inquiry 
after  its  success.  I  have  no  doubt  you  know 
more  about  that  than  I  do.  If  you  have  pub- 
is 


194  ROME. 

lished  anything  upon  the  book,  I  would  like  to 
see  the  same.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  think 
yqu  have  penetrated  my  views  and  studied  them 
more  thoroughly  and  more  sympathetically  than 
any  other  person  that  I  know  of,  not  excepting 
my  St.  Louis  friends.  I  look  upon  you  as  one 
of  the  godfathers  of  the  work  — a  relation  per- 
haps which  you  will  disown,  but  which  I  intend 
to  foist  upon  you.  I  am  glad  that  you  are  so 
pleased  with  the  mechanical  execution  of  the 
book  —  the  publisher  made  a  name  by  this  one 
effort,  which  is  about  the  only  pay,  I  am  afraid, 
that  he  will  get  for  his  care  and  expense. 

To-day  is  our  day  for  visiting  the  Palatine  in 
company  with  Commendatore  Rosa  under  whose 
directions  its  excavations  were  made.  You  are 
aware  that  this  was  the  hill  upon  which  the 
Palaces  of  the  Caesars  stood,  besides  many  other 
ancient  monuments.  The  impression  left  by  this 
honeycomb  of  structures  is  not  pleasant,  it  must 
have  been  gloomy  and  forbidding  with  its  sub- 
terranean passages,  dark  chambers,  and  very 
small  rooms.  Yet  it  is  characteristic :  You  feel 
that  it  was  constructed  by  tyrants  who  fled  from 
the  face  of  the  sun  and  of  their  fellow-men,  who 
burrowed  in  their  own  dark  thoughts  as  they 
have  here  burrowed  with  their  buildings  under 
the  earth.  They  bear  among  other  names  those 
of  Tiberius,  Caligula,  Domitian,  and  even 
Nero  —  monsters  into  whose  paws  this  world  had 


A  TOUR  IN  EUnOPE.  195 

been  handed  over  as  a  playthintr.  The  question 
comes  up  with  terrific  energy  on  this  Pahitine 
Hill,  What  was  the  guilt  of  our  poor  race  that 
brought  upon  it  such  a  fate?  For  Rome  was 
then  the  world  and  our  terrestrial  ball  was  hardly 
more  than  a  foot-ball,  kicked  about  capriciously 
by  imperial  madmen,  profligates,  and  wild  beasts. 
But  the  view  from  the  Palatine  is  wonderful  — 
yet  now  I  shall  have  to  shut  it  off  from  the  eye 
with  a  good-night,  and  bid  you  come  soon  again 
with  a  letter. 


Rome,  May  11th,  1878. 

So  you  are  interested  in  Davidson,  and  ask 
me  to  tell  you  more  about  him.  Well,  he  is  a 
very  interesting  man,  and  has  shown  himself 
such  here  at  Rome,  giving  new  proofs  of  his 
wonderful  erudition  and  brilliancy.  These  are, 
to  my  mind,  his  two  leading  mental  traits.  I 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  him  during  his  six 
weeks'  stay  in  Rome,  we  have  often  dined  to- 
gether and  had  very  pleasant  reviews  of  old  as- 
sociations at  St.  Louis.  He  devotes  himself 
largely  to  society  and  has  taken  me  with  him  on 
several  occasions  to  social  gatherings,  where 
nearly  all  nations  were  represented  and  all 
tongues  spoken.  He  does  not  seem  to  be 
studying  much  ;  I  tried  in  vain  to  get  him  to  go 
with  me  to  the  galleries  of  sculpture,  which  art 


196  ROME. 

I  know  that  he  studied  a  good  deal  while  in  St. 
Louis.  His  present  bent,  however,  appears  not 
to  run  in  that  direction,  but  rather  toward 
societ}^  in  which  he  certainly  shows  off  to  good 
advantage,  with  his  linguistic  and  other  erudite 
acquirements.  Then  his  social  initiative  is 
superb;  his  winning,  personal  manner  and  his 
melodious  voice  undertoned  with  a  slight  whiz  of 
the  Scotch  bm^r  take  hold  from  the  start ;  in- 
deed, I  have  always  thought  that  as  a  rule  his 
first  address  was  better  than  his  second,  and 
much  better  than  his  third.  I  should  add  that 
he  is  not  by  any  means  in  good  health  ;  this  may 
account  for  his  tendency  to  take  things  easy. 
He  has  been  exceedinsflv  friendlv,  has  even  s:one 
out  of  his.  way  to  show  me  courtesies,  all  of 
which  I  have  tried  to  reciprocate. 

Still  the  old  difference  between  us  remains, 
and  has  risen  to  the  surface  two  or  three  times 
in  little  tilts,  which,  however,  at  once  passed 
away,  for  both  of  us  suppressed  ourselves  with 
a  kind  of  tacit  agreement  between  us  to  keep 
aloof  from  former  grounds  of  antagonism.  For 
he  knew  as  well  as  I  that  nature  had  made  us 
antithetic,  in  fact  antipathetic,  differing  from 
the  bottom  up  in  thought  as  well  as  in  tempera- 
ment. As  he  was  a  teacher  with  me  in  the  High 
School  for  nearly  five  years,  and  as  I  was  during 
the  latter  part  of  this  period  his  superior  in  au- 
thority, and  was  forced  repeatedly  to  set  him  to 


I 


A  TOUR  ly  EUnOPE  197 

rights  pnicticallj    and    theoretically,    I    had    to 
study  his  character  and  specially  to  probe  to  the 
ground  of  the  serious  shortcomings  in  his  voca- 
tion.    I  think  I  have  stated  to  you  my  formu- 
lation of  this  fact  as  follows :   Davidson    lacks 
the  institutional  sense.     Ilis  was  the  most  disor- 
derly room  in  the    building,    and    consequently 
he  had  no  small  amount  of  trouble,  which  would 
sometimes  overflow  out  of  his  door  and   involve 
the  whole  school.     At  the   same    time   he    was 
the    most  learned  man   of    the  entire    body  of 
teachers,  and  personally   the    most  interesting; 
he  had  also  won  greater  distinction  than  any  of 
us.     A   remarkable   versatilitv   he   showed    both 
mental  and  moral ;   he  could   whirl  about  in  his 
views  and  take  a  new   and   indeed  opposite  po- 
sition with  great  dexterity.     But   when  his  ver- 
satility    turned     to    fickleness,    which,    I    have 
thought,  at  tmies  reached  down  to  his  convic- 
tion, it  certainly  went  beyond  the  limit  at  which 
it  could  be  called  admirable. 

Yet  1  must  confess  that  his  very  amicable 
spirit  as  well  as  many  a  little  remark  have  caused 
me  to  change  in  n}y  feeling  toward  him  and  to 
think  that  he  may  have  begun  that  New  Life  of 
which  he  has  dropi)ed  me  some  hints.  Evidently 
Dante,  of  whom  he  made  fun  at  St.  Louis,  has 
taken  a  great  hold  of  him  and  is  possibly  work- 
in":  his  transformation.  He  still  adheres  to  Aris- 
totle,    but  has  turned  awav  from  the  new  German 


198  BOME. 

interpretation  of  this  philosopher  and  is  evi- 
dently seeking  the  medieval  schoUistic  view  of 
the  "  master  of  those  who  know.  "  In  fact  he 
has  reacted  strongly,  I  might  say  violently, 
from  Germans  and  especially  from  German 
scholarship. 

He  saw  my  Overbeck  on  the  table  where  I  was 
writing  and  studying  and  immediately  attacked  it 
with  a  rancour  which  seemed  to  me  almost 
personal.  Yet  hack  somewhere  about  1868  or 
1869  I  know  that  he  read  Overbeck  (  Gescliichte 
der  Plastih),  and  from  it  obtained  really  his 
earliest  adequate  knowledge  of  Greek  Sculpture. 
In  fact  it  was  I  who  first  pointed  out  to  him  the 
existence  of  the  book  which  was  on  sale  at 
Witter's  German  Book  Store,  where  he  pur- 
chased it.  I  had  not  read  the  book  then,  as  I 
was  not  ready  for  such  a  task.  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  something  happened  on  one  of  his 
visits  to  Germany — what  it  was  I  cannot  quite 
make  out.  Also  he  assailed  the  whole  sphere  of 
German  Classic  Philology  with  a  considerable 
outpour  of  vituperation.  We  were  walking  past 
the  store  of  a  German  bookseller  at  Rome 
(Loescher,  I  believe)  when  I  pointed  out  the 
Leipzig  editions  of  the  Latin  Classics  displayed  in 
the  window.  "Look  at  that",  says  I,  "the 
books  which  were  written  on  this  spot  by  the 
old  Romans  many  centuries  ago  are  coming  back 
to   the    same   spot,  edited  by  German  scholars, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  199 

printed  by  German  workmen,  and  sent  forth  by 
German  publishers." 

Then  he  did  hiuuch  an  invective  at  whose  ex- 
travagance I  simply  laughed.  lie  declared  that 
he  much  preferred  the  French  editions  of  the 
Classics,  for  instance  Didot's.  I  could  not  help 
adding  that  Didot  certainly  drew  largely  upon 
German  erudition,  and  some  of  his  editors  had 
names  suspiciously  Teutonic.  In  fine  his  vehe- 
ment reaction  against  all  Germandom  is  the  most 
striking  change  I  have  noticed  in  him.  You 
know  that  in  St.  Louis  he  went  just  in  the  other 
direction:  he  lived  with  Germans  (after  quitting 
Harris),  he  spoke  German  chiefly  outside  of  the 
school;  he  adopted  German  customs,  notably 
among  other  things  drinking  his  quota  of  beer; 
he  contrasted  the  American  unfavorably  with  the 
German.  No  person  of  my  acquaintance  ever 
Teutonized  himself  so  completely  as  Davidson 
did  during  his  St.  Louis  period;  Bernays  called 
him  in  print  a  Scotch-  German. 

Now,  understand  me,  I  am  not  criticising 
this.  Every  man  has  a  right  to  his  own  individ- 
ual development  in  his  own  way  —  it  would  al- 
most seem  to  be  his  first  right  at  present. 
Moreover  I  did  something  quite  similar  myself, 
for  which  some  of  my  own  blood  reproached 
me.  When  I  first  came  to  St.  Louis  in  1864,  it 
was  substantially  a  German  city  ruled  by  Ger- 
mans —  a  situation  which  arose  from   the  Civil 


200  ROME. 

War  then  raging.  I  saw  my  opportunity  to  get 
acquainted  with  DeutschtJium  at  first  hand,  and 
I  sailed  in.  The  city  at  present  hardly  fur- 
nishes any  such  opportunity.  With  me  it  was 
an  attempt  to  push  back  to  my  origin  in  speech, 
custom  and  world-view;  it  was  an  instinct  to 
recover  and  renew  my  dimmed,  if  not  quite  lost 
ancestral  line.  I  doubt  if  Davidson  had  any 
such  native  instinct  in  him ;  his  deepest  racial 
strand  seemed  always  to  me  to  be  Celtic  rather 
than  Teutonic,  in  spite  of  claims  which  I  have 
heard  him  make.  Far  down  in  the  bed-rock  of 
character  he  is  a  poetic  Scotch  Celt  with  an 
Ossianic  tinge.  Hence  it  was  not  so  difficult  for 
him  to  fling  away  in  disgust  his  Teutonic  cul- 
ture ;  at  the  bottom  it  was  an  outside  matter 
anyhow  —  somewhat  as  we  see  the  genuine  old 
Roman  stripping  oif  his  Greek  culture  and 
throwing  it  to  the  winds  in  the  pinch  of  destiny. 
By  the  way  Shakespeare  saw  this  very  dis- 
tinctly, his  Roman  play  of  Julius  Caesar  is  full 
of  it ;  in  fact  he  could  find  it  already  suggested 
in  his  Plutarch.  So  I  construe  this  astonishing 
change  in  Davidson,  which  came  to  me  with  a 
kind  of  shock.  I  thought  at  first  that  it  might 
be  merely  some  of  his  banter  or  a  passing  mood, 
but  he  has  now  persisted  in  this  attitude  for 
weeks. 

This    letter    has    spun  itself    out  to  a  greater 
length  than  I  thought  possible,   but  the  matter 


A  TOUR  7.V  EUROPE.  201 

has  taken  surh  a  strong  hold  of  me  that  I  have 
repeatedly  turned  aside  from  the  antique  to  study 
Davidson.  And  now  I  must  hint  to  you  another 
change  which  I  think  I  have  detected  in  him, 
quite  concealed  as  yet,  and  only  fermenting  per- 
chance dreamily  in  his  soul.  It  is  this:  David- 
son seems  to  be  Catholicising.  What  do  you 
say  to  that?  Just  about  the  last  thing  one  would 
imagine  of  him  from  his  St.  Louis  career.  The 
German  free-thinker  and  the  Greek  heathen 
(so  I  have  heard  him  designate  himself)  gives 
signs  of  undergoing  a  remarkable  religious  trans- 
formation. My  own  astonishment  may  be  ex- 
pressed by  one  of  Brockmeyer's  exclamations: 
That  beats  the  Devil  and  his  grandmother.  But 
this  letter  must  come  to  an  end,  else  you  may 
deem  it  another  bantling  of  the  Infinite.  I  need 
add,  however,  that  this  last  act  of  the  Davidsonian 
drama  I  do  not  pretend  to  fathom ;  I  do  not 
know  how  sincere,  how  permanent  it  is ;  some- 
times I  say  to  myself  in  explanation,  it  is  only 
another  changeful  whim  of  a  soul  changeful  by 
nature.  But  it  seems  somethinor  more :  if  I  e:et 
light  myself, I  shall  let.it  shine  on  you.  Stop, 
insatiable  pen !  not  another  word. 


202  EOME, 

Home,  May  13th,  1878. 

I  have  been  for  a  long  time  wondering  why  I 
received  no  letter  from  you ;  indeed  I  was  a  little 
alarmed  lest  your  aged  arm  might  be  palsied 
by  sickness.  But  to-day  a  happy  notion  struck 
me  while  I  was  ruminating  the  matter  ;  I  thought 
that  perhaps  I  had  not  duly  notified  you  of  my 
change  of  address.  I  went  at  once  to  the  office 
of  the  American  Legation  and  there  found 
three  letters  from  you,  dating  as  far  back  as 
March.  How  vexed  I  felt  at  my  own  careless- 
ness !  But  the  mystery  is  now  fully  cleared  up 
and  I  hope  that  no  such  break  will  again  occur 
in  our  correspondence.  Recollect  hereafter  to 
send  to  my  address,  Rome,  Poste  Restante,  and 
not  the  American  Legation. 

Of  course  I  read  your  letters  with  great  de- 
light; I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  bits  of 
news  about  the  relatives.  Such  little  points  of 
information  are  more  pleasant  than  anything 
else  you  can  write;  they  send  the  agreeable 
aroma  of  home  across  the  Atlantic.  Tell  me 
about  the  children, their  progress,  their  prospects, 
their  wonderful  doings,  for  children  alone  can 
perform  miracles  in  these  late  days.  But  the  most 
surprising  fact  is  the  two  failures  which  you 
mention.  Is  it  possible  that  those  men,  who 
have  grown  gray  in  the  sole  endeavor  to  make 
money,  have  been  swept  out  of  all  their  posses- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  203 

sions  in  advanced  life?  What  a  text  to  preach 
from!  I  would  like  to  hear  you  dilate  upon  it, 
nailing  your  ideas  tight  with  ajipositc  quotations 
from  Scripture,  as:  ♦'  Lay  not  up  treasures  on 
earth  where  moth  and  rust  doth  corrupt,"  etc. 
Yet  I  pity  them ;  it  must  be  very  hard  to  see  the 
whole  effort  of  a  lifetime  crumble  to  ashes,  and 
to  involve  many  innocent  people  in  ruin.  Nor  is 
the  name  of  a  bankrupt  very  savory,  guiltless 
though  he  may  be.  Now  I  am  glad  that  I  have 
no  money  and  that  I  have  spent  my  time  in 
writing  impossible  books  which  do  not  hurt  any- 
body. To  see  some  product  of  your  will  survive 
your  flesh  is  a  sweet  revenge  against  crabbed  old 
Death.  Tell  me  more  about  the  circumstances 
of  these  failures  if  you  have  any  further  infor- 
mation. Died  of  two  much  land,  is  the  coroner's 
verdict.  I  too  have  found  Real  Estate  very  un- 
safe to  stand  on;  but,  thanked  be  Heaven,  I  do 
not  owe  anything.  Yet  when  the  very  ground 
gives  way,  whither  can  a  person  flee?  I  hope 
the  commercial  stress  will  soon  relax,  and  if  it 
will  only  change  the  whole  method  of  doing 
business,  it  will  yet  be  a  blessing. 

Certainly  the  length  and  violence  of  the 
financial  crisis  in  America  are  appalling.  Nearly 
every  kind  of  security  has  been  either  annihilated 
or  seriously  affected,  and  still  the  fever  continues 
its  ravages.  I  do  hope  it  may  stop  before  at- 
tackino;  the   national  credit,  wh'ch  with  .that  of 


204  EOME. 

most  of  the  States  is  yet  quite  intact.  One  thing 
I  regard  as  certain:  it  cannot  long  stand,  if  the 
present  depression  continues,  and  even  now  it 
stands  amid  the  ruins  of  the  manufacturing, 
commercial  and  agricultural  industries  of  the 
country.  Real  Estate,  the  primal  basis  of  all 
monied  security,  has  financially  sunk  out  of 
sight,  like  some  islands  of  the  sea ;  it  simply  has 
no  value.  The  buyer  gives  pretty  much  what  he 
chooses,  it  is  like  the  merchandise  in  some  Italian 
town  where  fixed  prices  are  unknown,  and  where 
one  often  buys  an  article  for  one-fourth  of  the 
money  first  demanded.  I  speak  of  the  property 
which  for  some  reason  is  thrown  upon  the  mar- 
ket; it  brings  nothing.  The  inference  is  plain:  a 
secure  fixed  investment,  one  upon  which  a  man 
can  rely,  is  hardly  to  be  found  to-day  in  America, 
for  there  is  nothing  to  secure  it.  This  convic- 
tion, when  it  reaches  the  minds  of  the  people, 
must  work  very  badly,  for  where  is  the  motive 
to  economize?  If  they  get  any  money,  they  will 
spend  it  rather  than  lose  it;  some  will  get  rid  of 
it  like  myself  in  a  trip  to  Europe ;  many  others 
will  waste  it  in  extravagance  or  debauchery. 

I  have  repeatedly  heard  here  in  Rome  from 
Americans  expressions  like  the  following ;  ' '  How 
glad  I  am  that  I  have  received  at  last  some 
pleasure  from  my  small  earnings  by  this  Euro- 
pean tour!  There  is  my  relative  or  my  friend, 
who,  after  denying  himself  jii  every  way  jn  order 


A   TOrii  IN  EUROPE.  205 

to  scrape  together  a  little  money,  has  lost  it  all 
by  the  failure  of  a  bank."  Indeed  I  feel  the 
same  thing  myself;  I  pray  my  bank  shall  not 
break  till  I  shall  have  spent  my  balance.  The 
sum  total  of  these  small  savings  is  inmiense;  but 
at  present  they  are  utterly  lost  to  the  business 
of  the  country  by  being  hoarded  or  spent.  The 
chief  financial  problem  for  the  business  man  and 
legislator  seems  to  me  to  be  this:  to  devise 
some  means  which  will  give  security  to  fixed  in- 
vestments—  then  confidence  will  return. 

I  did  not  intend  to  devote  this  letter  to  finance 
or  social  ecomomy,  but  somehow  or  other  it  has 
got  started  in  that  direction  and  cannot  stop. 
I  do  not  ordinarily  think  of  these  matters,  Rome 
is  not  in  the  busiuess-world ;  but  the  crash  of 
American  credit  has  been  so  loud  that  the  echoes 
are  heard  even  here.  Some  unexpected  failures 
in  St.  Louis  also  have  set  me  to  thinking:  what 
all  this  stupendous  ruin  means  —  a  ruin  which, 
though  very  different  in  kind,- threatens  to  rival 
what  I  see  around  me  here  in  Rome.  What  can 
be  the  cause  of  it?  So  I  demand  of  myself, 
turning  my  face  away  from  some  statue.  There 
must  have  been  deep  damning  guilt  somewhere, 
of  which  this  visitation  is  the  inexorable  penalty. 
I  tell  you  retribution  is. the  most  certain  if  not 
the  deepest  law  of  the  universe ;  man  always  has 
that  which  he  has  done  paid  back  to  him;  the 
sweep  may  be  a  wide  one,  but  return  it  will  with 


206  BOME. 

time.  What  then  has  the  commercial  world 
of  America  done  to  merit  such  a  chastisement? 
People  will  differ  about  the  offense  and  the 
degree  of  it;  but  I  have  my  opinion  which  I  am 
soing  to  tell  you,  though  it  may  sound  more  like 
the  analysis  of  tragedy  than  a  commercial  dis- 
cussion. But  then  is  not  this  crisis  a  financial 
tragedy? 

The  whole  tendency  of  our  habits  of  business 
is  well  illustrated  by  one  of  its  phases,  the  so- 
called  credit  system.  This  seeks  to  put  as  much 
time  as  possible  between  the  day  of  purchase 
and  the  day  of  payment,  thus  always  weakening 
and  undermining  the  day  of  payment.  In  other 
words  it  places  a  barrier  between  the  deed  and 
its  consequence,  it  teaches  men  not  to  expect  to 
reap  what  they  have  sown.  It  is  a  curiou?  fact 
of  human  nature  that  people  will  buy  if  they 
do  not  have  to  pay  at  once.  Now  what  is  the 
secret  motive  of  such  conduct?  Only  one 
motive  can  be  assigned ;  they  think  they  may 
not  have  to  pay  at  all,  if  the  time  of  payment  be 
long  deferred;  they  are  ready  to  run  the  chances 
of  escaping  the  day  of  reckoning,  and  if  they 
succeed,  it  is  so  much  clear  gain.  The  moral 
effect  of  such  a  belief  is  manifest;  dishonesty 
spreads  like  a  tiash  of  powder  the  moment  men 
think  that  they  will  not  be  held  accountable  for 
their    actions.       Now    it    is   just  this  belief  in 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  207 

accountability  which     the   habits    and    practices 
of  American  business  have  undermined. 

I  have  often  asked  commercial  men  to  show 
me  the  valid  grounds  for  the  credit  system.  The 
only  answer  that  I  have  ever  received  is,  it  pro- 
motes business.  But  how  does  it  promote  busi- 
ness? By  long  credits,  by  putting  off  the  day 
of  payment,  by  making  dishonesty  more  easy 
it  buys  men  with  its  temptations.  Poor  human 
nature  will  take  a  thing  which  it  does  not  have 
to  pay  for,  and  in  like  manner  it  will  commit  a 
sin  which  it  is  not  punished  for.  True  business 
demands  that  the  day  of  purchase  and  the  day 
of  payment  be  brought  together  as  nearly 
as  possible ;  true  morality  demands  that  the 
day  of  guilt  and  the  day  of  punishment  be 
conjoined  as  nearly  as  possible;  the  act  must 
not  be  separated  from  its  consequences. 

Since  the  war  America  has  done  nothing  but 
buy  on  credit ;  the  farmer  of  the  retailer,  the  re- 
tailer of  the  wholesaler,  the  wholesaler  of  the  im- 
porter, the  importer  of  the  European  dealer —  an 
endless  chain  of  debts  always  deferred  yet  always' 
increasins: —  a  labvrinthine  net-work  which  has 
entangled  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the 
land.  *'  Pay  as  you  go  "  is  the  good  old  watch- 
word of  the  buyer;  "  make  everybody  pay  as  he 
goes  ' '  should  be  the  watchword  of  the  seller.  Re- 
tribution has  come  upon  business  for  weakening 


208  ROME. 

its    own  basis,    its    own   act  has  come  home  to 
itself,  its  punishment  shows  poetic  justice, 

I  shall  not  say  anything  further  about  the 
crisis  of  which  you  doubtless  hear  more  than 
enough  at  home ;  but  I  had  to  express  a  few  of 
the  thoughts  which  have  been  surging  through 
my  head  for  a  good  while  upon  this  subject. 
Rome  fills  me  with  the  problems  of  the  past, 
that  which  stares  at  rae  on  every  side  is  ruin, 
colossal  ruin ;  one  continually  asks  why  should 
so  much  greatness  perish.  My  faith  is  that  it 
was  in  consequence  of  wrong,  of  crime,  of  viola- 
tion; every  ruin  is  a  hand-writing  which,  when 
it  is  deciphered,  reads  punishment,  and  punish- 
ment always  means  guilt.  I  have  just  come 
from  a  long  saunter  through  Hadrian's  Villa, 
the  magnitude  and  splendor  of  which  defy  the 
imagination;  it  was  the  country  seat  of  a  Roman 
Emperor,  yet  it  looks  like  the  remains  of  a  rich 
and  populous  city,  being  several  miles  in  extent. 
Why  does  it  now  lie  there  buried  in  rubbish, 
with  lizzards  sunning  themselves  on  its  broken 
arches,  with  the  olive  tree  growing  on  its  very 
roofs  and  sending  down  roots  into  the  imperial 
chambers?  Spell  out  the  huge  letters  as  they 
lie  scattered  along  the  ground,  and  you  will  read 
the  doom  of  unforgetting  Nemesis:  "Here  is 
given  back  to  you  that  which  you  have  done." 

This  is  the  spot  from  which  the  History  of  the 
World  is  to  be  read  with  the  greatest  profit ;  for 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  209 

here  the  simple  narnitive  is  accompanied  with  a 
most   impressive  commentary   in  the  ruins  and 
monuments  of  the  city.     These  speak  in  the  most 
emphatic  manner,    making    the     past  a    reality 
which   drives    home  to  the  senses  and  feelings. 
Still  greater  than  the  physical  is  the  spiritual 
ruin ;    the    proudest    human    being    that    ever 
lived — the    ancient  Roman — has    become    the 
Italian    beggar;    the    eternal    city    herself    lives 
largely  from  the  charity  of  the  foreigner.     See- 
ing on  every  side  such  results,  we  are  driven  to 
investigate    the    causes ;     a   new   life    begins  or 
ought  to  begin  for  the  person  who  settles  here 
for   a   time    with   the   determination  of  tracing 
things  back  to  their  sources. 

I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind  about  the 
time  of  my  return ;  it  will  be  governed  largely 
by  the  circumstances  in  America.  I  want  to 
stay  another  year,  though  a  year  is  a  long  time 
and  I  may  get  tired.  But  it  is  my  purpose  to 
pay  a  visit  to  Greece,  my  trip  to  Europe  will  be 
incomplete  without  seeing  that  old  classic  land. 
This  summer  I  cannot  well  go  there  on  account 
of  the  intense  heat,  so  this  journey  will  have  to 
be  put  off  till  next  fall. 

Nor  have  I  yet  determined  whether  I  shall 
stay  in  Rome  during  the  hot  season.  I  have 
made  many  inquiries,  opinions  are  very  diverse; 
some  people  say  that  the  summers  are  dangerous, 
others  that  they  arc  healthy.     If  I  can    remain 

14 


210  BOME. 

and  work,  the  question  is  settled ;  besides  I  feel 
that  I  am  accustomed  to  the  rage  of  the  St.  Louis 
dog-star,  and  he  is  probably  not  much  worse 
here.  I  am  now  at  the  central  point  of  my 
travels,  every  other  place  is  of  subordinate  in- 
terest. I  would  like  to  stay  till  I  have  slaked 
my  thirst  somewhat,  for  I  may  never  have  an- 
other opportunity. 

Do  not  send  off  to  outsiders  any  more  of  my 
letters,  though  I  expect  all  the  family  living  in 
Cincinnati  to  see  them.  You  know  they  are 
sometimes  pretty  free.  I  would  not  write  so  to 
everybody.  Eecollect  that  I  am  no  longer  your 
bumptious  boy  of  sixteen  ;  recollect  that  a  few 
more  turns  of  the  yearly  wheel  will  bring  me  to 
forty.  I  hear  from  the  little  girl  quite  fre- 
quently ;  she  always  writes  me  a  short  prattling 
letter,  which  excites  in  me  the  keen  longing  to 
see  her  again. 


Rome,  May  17th,  1878. 

FiBst  of  all  let  me  say  that  I  am  much  obliged 
for  the  letter  of  introduction  which  you  have 
obtained  for  me  from  your  priest.  I  shall  make 
use  of  it  next  fall  if  not  this  summer,  provided 
I  stay  till  that  time.  It  is  my  desire  to  form 
the  acquaintance  of  some  ecclesiastics  when  I 
begin  to  cast  a  few  glances  into  Papal  Rome;  at 
present  1  am  wholly  occupied  with  Heathendom. 


A   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  211 

and  am  trying  to  worsliip  in  the  temples  of  the 
old  Gods.  The  good  priest  did  not  know,  I  am 
afraid,  to  what  an  unsaintly  soul  ho  was  giving 
a  letter ;  but  the  advantage  is  mine  and  I  owe  it 
to  you.  When  I  have  traveled  or  rather  evolved 
down  to  the  Middle  Ages,  it  is  my  purpose  to 
become  a  good  churchman,  and  sincerely  to  try 
to  understand  and  feel  what  Catholicism  has 
meant  and  still  means  in  the  world. 

Davidson  has  left  the  city  and  gone  to  Naples 
where  he  intends  to  remain  a  few  days  and  then 
go  to  Paris.  We  made  an  excursion  together 
to  Tivoli,  a  town  about  eighteen  miles  from 
Rome,  celebrated  for  its  romantic  situation  and 
its  antiquities.  It  lies  on  the  slope  of  a  moun- 
tain, down  which  cascades  are  leaping;  the 
mountain  streams  fall  into  deep  grots,  in  one  of 
which  the  Sybil  was  said  to  reside.  The  vol- 
canic rocks  are  wound  and  twisted  and  curled  in 
every  possible  manner,  producing  a  natural  ara- 
besque which  sometimes  takes  the  form  of  huge 
monsters.  I  saw  a  Triton  and  a  Dolphin ;  the 
grot  of  Neptune  is  one  of  the  names  very  a})pro- 
priately  given  to  a  subterranean  chamber  here. 
It  is  not  hard  to  transport  yourself  into  the 
time  of  the  primitive  inhabitants  and  behold  a 
mythology  springing  up  around  this  fascinating 
scenery ;  indeed  if  I  staid  in  the  locality  for  a 
long  period,  I  would  make  a  mythology  of  my 
own, and  people  these  abodes  with  invisible  shapes. 


212  ROME. 

^Vtiuderiiig  along  the  deep  valley,  peering  into 
the  weird  caverns,  observing  the  thousandfold 
jets  of  the  water,  forms  of  the  vegetation,  twists 
of  the  rock,  one  feels  the  myth-making  spirit—- 
the  original  necessity  of  accounting  for  these 
wonderful  processes  by  the  agency  of  supernat- 
ural beings. 

The  village  though  in  the  most  picturesque 
situation,  has  a  dingy  appearance;  seen  from 
a  distance,  it  is  in  the  most  striking  contrast 
with  bright  and  beautiful  Nature  who  embraces. 
it  on  all  sides.  Indeed  this  atmosphere  is  very 
trying  to  the  works  of  man ;  they  must  be  made 
of  marble  and  kept  in  the  cleanest  and  most 
polished  condition,  if  they  will  rival  the  clear 
skies,  the  translucent  air,  and  the  graceful  out- 
lines of  the  mountains.  Every  where  along  these 
slopes  stood  the  immense  villasof  theold  Romans, 
built  from  the  spoils  of  the  world  and  without 
any  regard  to  expense ;  still  many  of  the  ruins 
are  visible  with  a  substructure  of  brick  and  mor- 
tar more  durable  than  Rome  herself.  With  a 
little  aid  from  the  imagination  we  can  still  see 
scattered  on  the  sides  of  the  mountains  whito 
edifices  of  Greek  architecture,  shining  through 
the  groves  —  partially  hid,  yet  partially  re- 
vealed by  the  rich  foliage.  In  the  morning  be- 
fore breakfast  we  climbed  to  the  summit  of 
Mount  Catillo  which  overlooks  the  town  and  the 
valley    of   the    river    Teverone;    most  beautiful 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE  213 

was  the  ancient  temple  of  Vesta  overhangino-  the 
gorge  of  tlie  roaring  stream  ;    in  shai)e  it  is  round 
and    still   has    many  of    its    Corinthian  columns 
standing  which  encircle  it  in  the  form  of  a  col- 
onnade.     How    the    town    must    have   shone  in 
the    morning    sun,   filled    with    its    temples,    its 
villas,    its    public  buildings!     Now  it  is  a  dirty 
spot  on  the  landscape.     Why  did  not  the  people 
remain  Heathens,  says  my  heathenized  part  to 
myself,  and  preserve  their  beauty?     In  antiquity 
they  lived  in  simple  harmony  with  nature,  they 
adjusted  themselves  to  her  as  in  a  mirror;   their 
works  only  sought  to  express  her  more  truly  than 
she  herself  is;   their  life  was  a  continuous  enjoy- 
ment, an    eternal   rapture  of  the  senses.     They 
lived,  they  never  died  a  hundred  times  in  life  — 
existence    was    not    to  them    a    Death-in-Life. 
Why  surrender  themselves  to  the  dream  of  what 
is    to  be,  and  dwell    in  everlasting    discord  and 
struggle    with    their    kind    and  most  beautiful 
mother.  Nature?     Alas,  they  could  not  help  it  — 
a  baby  cannot  help  growing  to  manhood. 

The  streets  are  narrow  and  filthy ;  indeed  it  is 
hard  to  get  used  to  an  Italian  street;  I  always 
think  that  I  am  in  an  alley  of  an  American  vil- 
lage. Stables  for  cows  and  horses  front  the 
leading  thoroughfare,  while  the  house  adjoining 
may  contain  a  store  for  dry  goods  or  groceries. 
You  look  into  the  lower  stories,  often  without 
windows ;  dark  and  dismal  must  be  the  life  there, 


214  BOME, 

though  the  mild  climate  entices  man  mto  the 
open  air  away  from  his  own  wretched  works. 
Beggars  assail  you  on  every  corner,  sometimes 
leaving  manly  toil  to  ask  for  a  cent.  Oh  this 
Italian  beggary  —  it  is  the  despair  of  the  well- 
wisher  of  Italy.  How  can  a  people  be  resur- 
rected that  has  lost  its  spirit  of  independence? 
So  many  attempts  to  excite  compassion  I  have 
never  seen  —  so  many  lame,  blind,  sore,  sick, 
ragged  and  dirty  persons,  striking  an  attitude  of 
prayer  before  the  stranger  and  invoking  the 
blessings  of  all  the  saints  —  for  a  single  penny, 
which  they  do  not  generally  get. 

Do  you  know  that  I  blame  the  Church  largely 
for  this  condition  of  things,  on  account  of  its 
doctrine  of  charity?  Indiscriminate  alms-giving 
is  a  curse  to  any  society,  but  when  it  is  made  a  prime 
article  of  religious  duty,  it  elevates  the  mendi- 
cant into  the  most  important  instrumentality  for 
attaininsf  eternal  bliss.  He  becomes  even  inso- 
lent  and  thinks  that  he  is  conferring  upon  you  a 
great  favor  by  giving  you  such  a  good  and  fre- 
quent opportunity  of  gaining  the  favor  of  Heaven. 
The  connection  between  beggary  and  charity  be- 
comes manifest  in  Italy,  and  one  almost  grows 
hard-hearted  toward  real  misfortune  on  account 
of  being  imposed  upon  by  its  counterfeit.  Then 
too  what  a  harvest  of  lies  grows  up  in  the  charac- 
ter; it  seems  as  if  half  the  people  you  see  shuf- 
(lo    lamely   along    or  assume  some  eleemosynary 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  215 

attitude  —  dissimulation  it  is  in  nearly  every  case. 
Charity  should  be  taken  away  from  the  church 
and  from  the  individual;  it  belongs  to  the  State 
or  Municipality  to  organize  charity  into  institu- 
tions protecting  the  unfortunate,  driving  off  the 
impostor,  relieving  the  citizen  from  care  and 
from  alms.  Do  I  seem  to  you  to  assert  these 
things  too  harshly? 

I  have  heard  that  you  intend  paying  a  visit  to 
Europe  this  summer  —  why  not  come  to  Rome? 
You  could  be  here  by  the  first  of  July,  if  not  be- 
fore ;  this  would  give  you  several  weeks  in  the 
city  before  the  hottest  season,  or  at  least  before 
the  unhealthy  season,  which  is  said  to  be  worst  in 
September.  Besides,  from  all  that  I  can  learn, 
Rome  is  not  more  sicklj'  or  hotter  than  St.  Louis 
in  summer.  I  have  not  yet  compared  the  tables 
of  temperature  —  but  judging  by  this  preliminary 
month  of  May,  it  is  not  so  difficult  to  stay  in  the 
city  during  the  warm  season ;  certainly  I  have  not 
yet  felt  the  lassitude  which  I  always  feel  at  St. 
Louis  in  the  spring.  I  shall  probably  remain 
here,  at  least  my  movements  will  not  depend  on 
the  season.  I  need  hardly  assure  you  that  I  am 
at  your  service  for  any  arrangements  you  might 
wish  to  make.  Living,  too,  is  very  cheap  and 
good  in  Rome,  if  you  but  look  for  it  with  care. 

By  the  time  this  letter  reaches  you,  another 
scholastic  year  will  be  at  its  close,  and  all  of  you, 
my  old  associates,  will  be  busy  preparing  for  the 


216  EOME. 

grand  termination  in  Mercantile  Library  Hall. 
Tell  me  in  a  confidential  sort  of  way,  how  mat- 
ters have  turned  out?  Cast  the  horoscope  of  the 
future  of  our  circle  for  me,  so  far  away  here  in 
Rome.  Give  me  a  little  resumd  of  the  literary 
activity  of  the  winter  —  what  you  have  gained, 
what  you  have  not?  Do  not  consider  anything 
too  trivial;  I  know  that  you  have  much  to  tell, 
if  you  would  only  think  so.  But  if  you  fetch 
the  news  yourself  to  Rome,  you  need  not  write 
it,  only  let  me  hear  from  you  at  once,  lest  I  may 
pull  up  stakes  and  depart.  I  am  expecting  now 
some  St.  Louis  friends  —  Germans  whom  I  sup- 
pose you  did  not  know  —  to-morrow  they  will 
probably  arrive.  So  time  rolls  on  rapidly,  in- 
tending evidently  to  whirl  me  back  in  his  current 
to  St.  Louis  some  day  —  but  he  has  not  borne 
me  half  way  there  yet  I  hope. 


Borne,  May  23rd,  1878, 

So  you  have  at  length  written.  My  theory 
was  that  a  letter  of  yours  had  been  lost,  and  I 
had  caused  the  Post  Office  Clerk  to  rummagre 
through  his  packages  in  search  of  it.  Sometimes 
too  my  imagination  began  to  play  in  a  lively 
manner,  picturing  sickness,  absence,  even  aliena- 
tion as  the  ground  of  the  delay.  But  the  arrival 
of  your  letter  has  cleared  away  all  doubts,  and 
left  behind  the  same  old  pleasant  image  of  your- 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE.  217 

Belf — friendly,  healthy,  of  aldermanic  em- 
bonpoint. I  wish  that  I  could  spend  with  you  a 
week  or  t  wo  of  your  recess  ;  or,  what  would  be 
better,  that  you  could  spend  the  whole  of  it  with 
uie  here  in  Eonie. 

I  am  much  obliged  for  your  interest  in  the 
little  girl;  she  always  considers  a  visit  at  your 
house  as  the  very  summit  of  conceivable  pleasure. 
Many  an  unwilling  act  have  I  purchased  from 
her  by  the  promise  of  such  a  visit.  She  has  already 
written  several  letters  to  me,  short  but  precious, 
confined  chiefly  to  sending  me  a  kiss.  When 
I  wish  to  indulge  in  a  pleasant  dream,  I  imagine 
her  and  myself  ten  years  hence  to  have  come 
to  Konie  and  to  be  going  the  rounds  which  I  now 
make  alone ;  she  being  a  young  lady  not  without 
some  sprightliuess  (it  is  only  a  dream  you  know) 
and  I,  what?  A  man  past  middle  age,  with  en- 
vious silver  streaking  the  shock  of  my  hair.  But 
to  look  over  into  that  bottomless  abyss  called  the 
Future,  and  to  keep  a  steady  eye  on  its  Stygian 
darkness  for  even  a  few  moments  —  it  makes  me 
shudder.  If  the  imagination  did  not  throw  its 
golden  light  into  that  chasm,  man  would  destroy 
himself  rather  than  enter  it  alive. 

This  I  know  is  not  the  spirit  of  a  Christian, 
who  always  looks  to  the  Future  for  his  happi- 
ness;  the  present  life  is  the  trial,  the  dark  exist- 
ence. But  I  am  trying  to  work  out  the 
heathen  consciousness  that  the  Present   alone  is 


218  ROME. 


\ 


the  bright,  clear  world;  that  is,  if  it  be  relieved 
of  its  crossness  and  cast  into  the  pure  forms  of 
Art.     Enjoyment  in    its    true  sense  is   the  best 
doctrine  which    antiquity  has  taught  us;     this, 
I  have  come  to  believe,  is  its  greatest  contribu- 
ti®n  to  the  culture  of  the  race.     For  true  enjoy- 
ment has  the  eternal  element  in   it;  it  is  not  a 
debauch,    a    frenzy,    but    a    perennial    fountain 
sending  forth    waters   of  happiness.      It  is  the 
eternal  sensuous  {ewig  sinnlich)  realized  in  Art. 
For  the  first  question  of  culture,  is.  What  shall 
I  do  with  these  senses  of  mine?       To  this  ques- 
tion  the  Ancients,    especially    the  old    Greeks, 
gave  an  adequate  answer.     Rigid    Morality  with 
its  abstract  principle  has  tried  to  solve  the  same 
problem ;   I    do  not  think  that  it  has  been  very 
successful,  though  I  would  not  in  the   least  dis- 
parage   its    efforts.     But    Morality    must    stop 
carrying  on  a  war  of  extermination    against  the 
senses,  and  find  some  common  ground  of  recon- 
ciliation. 

I  have  just  come  from  a  German  tavern  here, 
where  one  sees  all  the  Germans,  artists  and  trav- 
elers. A  jolly  company  it  was,  ranged  on  both 
sides  of  a  long  table.  Distinguished  men  were 
there,  women  too,  but  they  all  threw  off  their 
dignity  in  a  merry  carousal.  Odd  characters  from 
every  part  of  the  old  Fatherland  frequent  this 
place — students,  making  the  tour  of  Italy  on 
foot,    professional      wanderers,     schoolmasters, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROrE.  219 

even  professors.  I  see  old  men  who  have  saved 
a  little  money  realizing  the  dream  of  their  life 
by  a  pedestrian  trip  to  the  classic  land.  I  ven- 
ture to  say  that  these  men  as  a  class  are  the -most 
intelligent  visitors  of  Rome ;  they  know  the 
ancient  authors,  have  studied  antiquities  from 
youth ;  and  now  they  look  at  the  objects  which 
they  have  read  of  so  much  with  a  sort  of 
ecstasy.  One  man  whom  I  often  see  on  the 
Pincio  I  can  never  look  at  without  enthusiasm ; 
seedy  are  his  garments,  old-fashioned,  ill-fitting; 
his  shoos  are  covered  with  the  dust  of  the  day's 
perambulation,  what  is  to  be  obtained  in  Rome, 
he  is  getting,  for  not  a  man  in  the  city  equals 
his  industry  and  endurance.  How  he  enjoys  the 
music,  the  view  from  the  hill,  the  statuary  — 
a  heathen  spirit  that  has  wandered  from  some 
German  village,  whither  it  has  been  banished  in 
the  flesh,  has  at  last  found  its  own  joyous 
world. 

Three  or  four  days  ago  the  expected  St. 
Louis  friends  arrived,  whom  you  are  acquainted 
with.  They  have  already  rented  a  suite  of 
rooms  and  intend  to  remain  a  month.  It  is  ex- 
tremely pleasant  to  see  these  familiar  faces  here 
so  far  away  from  our  old  home ;  now  I  shall  not 
lack  company  of  the  most  agreeable  kind. 
Davidson,  too,  is  in  the  city  just  now,  but  will 
leave  it  in  a  day  or  so.  I  dined  with  him  to- 
day and  had  a  very  friendly  chat  about  old  times 


220  ROME. 

and  common  acquaintances.  He  has  just  re- 
turned from  Naples  and  Monte  Cassino,  of  which 
he  gives  a  very  glowing  account. 

Rumors  of  socialistic  outbreaks  in  America  are 
sometimes  published  iu  the  Roman  newspapers; 
do  you  expect  any  danger  at  St.  Louis?  The 
Devil  has  literally  broken  loose  in  Europe  and  is 
slashing  about  in  a  fearful  manner.  I  do  not 
care  to  touch  politics,  as  the  whole  subject  is 
just  now  a  very  dark  one,  and  I  do  not  like 
either  side.  Most  of  the  Germans  whom  I  meet 
are  very  ardent  supporters  and  admirers  of  the 
Bismarkian  cast-iron  despotism,  which  is  better, 
if  one  must  choose,  than  anarchy. 

I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  go  to  the  Paris  Ex- 
position. It  would  deflect  me  too  much  aside  from 
my  course.  My  purpose  is  to  hold  out  as  long 
as  I  can  at  Rome  during  the  summer,  and  then  go 
to  the  neighboring  seashore.  Here  is  the  place 
to  work  in;  till  my  task  is  done,  I  cannot  possi- 
bly be  as  well  off  anywhere  else.  My  surround- 
ings are  pleasant  and  inexpensive,  the  objects  of 
study  are  mostly  here,  books  I  can  get  and  other 
aids ;  it  would  be  foolish  to  leave  these  advant- 
ages at  present. 

The  only  drawback  which  I  have  yet  experi- 
enced is  that  the  climate  or  the  food  and  drink  of 
Rome  has  a  tendency  to  make  me  nervous.  Oue 
cup  of  tea  last  eveuing  caused  me  to  lie  awake 
till  broad  daylight  —  at  St.  Louis  it   would  re- 


A  TOUIt  IN  EUROPE.  221 

quire  several  cups  to  produce  such  an  effe(;t.  I 
suppose  however  that  I  uiay  have  been  excited 
also  from  other  causes.  There  is  soinetiines  a 
low  rapping  on  the  floor  above  my  head;  this 
little  noise  will  not  let  me  go  to  sleep,  not  on 
account  of  the  loudness  of  the  sound,  but  simply 
because  I  get  into  a  worry  by  trying  not  to  let  it 
disturb  nie;  my  struggle  to  tranquillize  myself 
makes  me  very  untranquil.  So  too  insects 
trouble  me  more  in  imagination  than  in  reality; 
it  all  comes  from  pure  nervousness  which  I  know 
to  be  the  cause,  but  still  I  cannot  help  the  diflfi- 
culty. 

I  have  not  seen  a  copy  of  the  Westerii  since  it 
passed  into  new  hands,  nor  have  I  heard  much 
about  literary  matters  in  St.  Louis.  I  am  glad 
to  see  that  you  are  still  pegging  away  at  your 
novel,  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  it 
as  a  complete  work  by  the  time  of  my  return. 
Our  friend  Brockmeyer  is  still  going  to  write  his 
great  work  —  going,  going,  but  never  gone. 
Would  that  ho  could  bo  brought  to  convert  a  few 
of  his  gigantic  possibilities  into  realities ! 


222  ROME. 

Borne,  May  25th,  1878. 

Yours  was  an  unexpected  pleasure  to  me  which 
I  hope  you  will  continue  to  repeat.  Sometimes 
I  become  a  little  depressed,  and  need  a  good  word 
to  revive  my  spirits.  I  cannot  always  study, 
cannot  always  be  looking  at  things,  nor  is  the 
friend  just  at  hand  always,  to  whom  I  can  betake 
myself.  Your  letter  imparted  to  me  its  own  de- 
lightful buoyancy. 

Just  now  I  was  interrupted  by  the  attack   of 
an  enemy  who    has  to  be  chased  down    before 
any  other  work  can  be  performed.     I  felt  him 
enter  my  domain  just  where  my  drawers  and  my 
socks  form  a  junction,  that  is  a  little  above  the 
ankle;  his  presence  was  announced  by  an    un- 
comfortable crawl ,  as  well  as  by  two    or   three 
savage  gouges  into  the  flesh.     It  is  the  flea,  the 
arch  foe  of   the  stranger  who  tarries  at  Rome 
during    the    summer,    infecting    his   room,    his 
clothes,  his  bed;  he  cannot  go  out  on  the  street, 
nor    can    he    stay    at    home    without    a    visit. 
Personal  cleanliness  will  not  keep  off  the  mon- 
ster; eternal  vigilance  alone  is  the  price  of  lib- 
erty from  the  domination  of  this  tyrant.     You 
must  forever  be  standing  on  your  guard,  ready 
to  rush  into  battle  the   moment  an  enemy  ap- 
pears.    Parts    of    my    body    are    covered    with 
wounds    where   he,   having    caught    me   in    the 
night,  has  stabbed  me.     The   flea   is    a  regular 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  223 

devil,  with  complete  outfit ;   he  haacloven   feet, 
grabbers    and    horus ;     pick   him   up    and   look 
at  him;    a    magnifying  glass  is  hardly    needed 
here,     for  nature     has    magnified    him     enough 
already  —  both  the  number  and  variety  of  his  in- 
strumepts  will  astonish   you.     Nasty    little    de- 
mon   he    is    who    thrusts  you    into    a    Hell    of 
torment,     if     you     do    not    watch    and    fight. 
But  I  have  become  somewhat    accustomed    to 
his  presence    and    rather   take    pleasure   in   the 
excitement  of    chasing    him    down.     Besides  he 
-possesses infinite  cunning — another  quality  of  old 
Satan's;  at  first  he  beat  all  my  strategy  and  never 
failed   to   escape  till    I    learned  the  art  of   war 
from  him.     Then   that   gigantic    world-defying 
leap — seven  league    boots  were    baby    shoes   in 
comparison.     Some    naturalists    have  calculated 
how  many    lengths    of    his    own   body  the    flea 
can     jump.      I     have     forgotten    the     measur- 
ments,   but    I    feel  certain    that   if  I  possessed 
relatively  the  same  capacity  as    the  Roman   flea, 
at  a  single  leap  I  could  pass  over  continents  and 
oceans  and  be  with  you  in    Cincinnati    to-night. 
Here  however  comes  a  mystery  which  I  have  not 
yet  been  able  to  solve ;  stated  in  the  form   of   a 
question  it  is  this :      Where  does    the   flea    light 
when  he  leaps?     On  this  point   my  experiments 
have  been  manifold ;  1  have  spread  the  floor  of  my 
room  with  the  sheets  of  my  bed  in  order  that    I 
might  more  easilv  observe  his  dark  large  bodv  on 


224  BOMB. 

the  white  material ;  then  I  have  let  him  loose  in 
the  middle  of  it,  but  never  more  did  I  catch  a 
glimpse  of  that  flea,  he  leaped  into  the  invisible 
legions  of  space  beyond  the  puny  vision  of  mor- 
tals. He  too  furnishes  me  some  sport;  but  a 
few  hours  ago  I  saw  a  very  grave  majestic-look- 
ing Roman  matron,  while  sitting  in  a  parlor 
with  company,  clap  her  hands  to  her  thigh  and 
suspiciously  scratch  —  Honi  soil  qui  mal  y  pense. 
But  what  could  I  help  thinking  of?  I  only 
transferred  to  her  my  own  thousandfold  ex- 
perience. 

This  is  doubtless  enough  and  more  than 
enough  about  the  entomology  of  the  situation, 
though  the  subject  is  by  no  means  exhausted; 
but  I  am  aware  that  you  at  home  are  not  without 
opportunities  of  studying  it  and  not  without 
experience.  Let  me  then  give  a  leap,  not  unlike 
that  of  the  above-mentioned  insect,  to  a  new 
subject. 

You  have  often  heard  of  the  Italian  skies ; 
they  deserve  all  their  fame.  The  atmosphere  is 
very  transparant.  On  a  fine  day  it  seems  almost 
as  if  you  could  reach  out  your  hand  and  touch 
the  villages  on  the  Alban  Hills  though  they  are 
from  fifteen  to  twenty  miles  distant.  Still  I  doubt 
whether  this  beautiful  clearness  is  greater  than 
that  which  we  could  see  at  Cincinnati  or  St. 
Louis,  if  the  air  were  not  filled  with  such  im- 
mense quantities  of  coal-smoke.     Rome    has  no 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  225 

manufactures ;  I  cuii  now  recollect  of  seeing  only 
two  of  those  high  chimneys  whose  summits  belch 
forth  such  thick  bhick  fumes  from  every  jDiirt  of 
an  American  city.  The  industries  of  South  St. 
Louis  alone  would  lill  up  the  basin  of  the  Roman 
Campagna  with  a  smoke  which  would  veil  all 
the  beauty  of  the  classic  land.  The  praise  of 
clearness  is  just,  but  it  comes  mainly  from  the 
English  whose  country  is  almost  without  that 
quality  on  account  of  its  fog  and  its  soot. 

This  clear  sunny  atmosphere  is  therefore 
nothing  uncommon  for  an  American  eye;  but 
that  which  is  uncommon  and  very  beautiful  is  the 
outlines  of  the  landscape.  Looking  at  the  hills 
against  the  transparent  sky,  we  can  see  them 
move  in  gentle  swells,  like  the  waves  of  the  sea; 
yet  the  curve  of  beauty  is  never  lost,  the  contour 
never  becomes  rough  or  exaggerated.  They  re- 
mind the  beholder  of  sculpture,  as  nature  so 
often  does  in  this  land ;  there  is  repose,  yet  it  is 
full  of  life;  these  lines  that  run  so  gracefully 
along  the  horizon  must  sink  deep  into  the  souls 
of  those  who  look  at  them  every  day.  So  inti- 
mately connected  with  Art  is  Nature,  who  always 
furnishes  the  primary  but  indispensable  instruc- 
tion. One  almost  thinks  that  he  can  point  out 
the  lines  which  trained  the  eye  of  the  old  sculp- 
tors, as  they  in  youth  gazed  upon  these  Southern 
hills. 

In  like  manner  Nature  has  furnished  the  models 


226  BOME. 

for  the  painter,  who  has  often  but  to  look  into  the 
face  of  the  fair  maid  living  next  door  to  him  in 
order  to  be  filled  with  a  vision  of  beauty.     On  the 
whole  I  think  that  it  may  be  said  of   the  Roman 
women  that  they  are  the  most  beautiful  in  the 
world,  that  is,  the  women  of  the  people,  of  the 
middle  and  lower    classes.     You  will  often  see 
the  finest  Madonna  faces  in  the  streets,  or  at  the 
churches  in  the  act  of  devotion.     I  saw  a  serv- 
ant buying    vegetables    at    the  market;   I  stood 
and  looked  at  her  as  long  as  she  stood  still,  and 
when  she  moved  off,  I  followed  in  the  distance 
casting  unobserved  glances  —  certainly  she  had 
more  beautiful  features    than  I  ever   beheld  in 
a  picture.     They  go  without  bonnets;   their  hair 
is  often  carefully  dressed,    so  that  the  face   is 
well  set  off,  but  the  rest  of  their  attire  is  negli- 
gent,  even  dirty  not  infrequently.      Disgustmg 
is  the  sight  of    soiled  linen  sticking  out  at  the 
breast  or  at  the  wrists,  or  when  the  skirt  dragorles 
in  the  street ;   it   suggests  filthy  underclothes  — 
horrible,  unpermissible    thought,  yet  too  often 
forced  upon  your  mind  by  the  personal  appear- 
ance of  the  Roman  woman.     Yet  she  is  a  beau- 
tiful being,  only  rivaled  by  her  Parisian  sister 
who  has  not  so    fine  features  but  far  excels  in 
dressing.     Even  the  market  girls  at  Paris  are  a 
delight  to  look  upon  on  account  of   their  clean 
white  aprons  and  tidy  appearance.     But  Rome  is 
the  converse. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  227 

Rome,  June  1st  1878. 

Would  jou  ever  have  thought  it?  Iq  the 
heart  of  Rome  a  kind  of  a  Geruiaii  festival.  It 
would  have  done  your  Teutonic  soul  good  to  have 
been  with  us.  A  company  of  German-speaking 
people  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe  nearly, 
got  together  —  men  and  women,  artists,  soldiers, 
travelers.  First  a  dinner  at  the  Goldkneipe,  with 
song,  story,  mandolin  and  of  course,  drink;  one 
ardent  patriot,  a  lame  artist,  kei)t  throwing  into 
the  entertainment  some  political  seasoning  which 
might  be  called  Bismarckian  pepper.  But  the 
real  tussle  was  over  the  merits  of  the  two  famous 
German  guide-books  of  Rome — Baedeker  and 
Gsell-Fels — I  supporting  and  voting  for  the 
latter. 

After  settling  this  problem  or  rather  agreeing 
to  leave  it  unsettled,  we  concluded  that  we  must 
do  something  worthy  of  the  old  Fatherland  and 
of  ourselves.  What  shall  it  be?  After  the 
usual  national  difference  of  opinion  (you  know 
the  proverb  —  two  Germans,  three  opinions), 
universal  applause  followed  the  suggestion  of 
one  of  the  company  that  we  all  go  to  the  wine- 
shop of  Est,  Est,  Est,  and  there  celebrate  the 
memory  of  the  old  Augsburger  prelate  Johannes 
Fugger,  who  drank  himself  to  death  on  the  good 
wine  of  Monte  Fiascoue,  that  is  Mount  Bottle  — 
an  actual  place  out  by   Viterbo,  in  spite  of  its 


228  EOME. 

suspicious  though  very  characteristic  name.  I 
cried:  Ach  Hinimel !  Another  banquet,  and  at 
this  time  ©f  niffht!  But  the  enthusiasm  carried 
me  along,  and  like  a  whirlwind  we  swept  into  the 
tap-room  on  Via  Palombella  waking  up  the  old 
woman  in  charge. 

Now  I  must  tell  you  the  story  of  the  person 
we  celebrated,  drinking  the  same  kind  of  wine 
that  sent  him  to  bliss.  It  is,  I  should  say,  the 
most  famous  German  story  in  Rome;  at  least  I 
heard  it  told  by  Germans  oftener  than  any 
other.  The  said  Fugger  taking  a  trip  from  Ger- 
many to  Rome  on  some  ecclesiastical  duty,  sent 
his  servant  ahead  to  test  the  wine  of  the  various 
places  he  was  to  pass  through,  and,  where  it  was 
good,  to  write  on  the  door  of  the  wine  shop  Est 
(it  is).  At  Monte  Fiascone  the  servant  wrote 
thrice  for  emphasis  ^iS'^,  Est,  ^s^  and  to  this  day 
the  wine  there  is  so  named.  But  the  German 
ecclesiastic  never  reached  Rome,  never,  indeed, 
got  beyond  Monte  Fiascone.  In  its  church,  San 
Flaviano,  is  an  inscription  on  a  tomb  by  the  ser- 
vant in  very  broken  Latin  which  tells  the  story: 
"  Est,  Est,  Est.  On  account  of  too  much  is 
{est)  here  Johannes  Fugger ,  my  master  is  {est) 
dead  " 

The  story  was  again  told  in  the  wine  shop 
with  many  a  merry  decoration  between  the  sips. 
In  fact,  Fugger  became  a  kind  of  heroic  theme 
played  with  numberless  whimsical   variations  by 


A  TOUR  /iV  EUROPE.  229 

the  whole  company.  Finally  a  song  broke  out 
which  I  have  heard  you  intone  at  St.  Louis: 
Der  Paj^st  lebt  herrlich  in  iler  Welt.  Then  I 
sneaked  off  and  went  home  to  bed. 

What  a  Gothic  festival  iu  this  classic  land! 
As  I  lay  thinking  of  the  strange  Teutonic  freaks 
of  the  evening,  Goethe's  "N^'alpurgis-Night 
came  into  my  head,  portraying  a  scene  on  the 
Blocksberg,  one  of  his  wildest,  most  fantastic 
pieces  of  Northern  witch-work.  And  yet  he 
wrote  it  here  at  Rome,  in  a  kind  of  inner  Ger- 
man reaction  against  this  ever-harmonious  classic 
art.  His  suppressed  Gothie  nature  broke  loose 
and  welled  forth  in  that  poetic  outburst  of  weird 
grotesquery.  So  it  was  with  his  countrymen 
to-night.  But  to-morrow  we  shall  all  be  hasten- 
ing to  the  galleries  to  view  and  appropriate  the 
serenity  and  happy  proportion  of  that  Greek 
statuesque  world,  which  we  have  somehow  to  get 
inside  of  us,  or  remain  barbarians.  German 
Faust  must  wed  Greek  Helen,  even  if  now  and 
then  he  slips  away  from  his  beautiful  spouse, 
and  has  a  regular  Walhalla  night  of  it  on 
Brocken. 


230  ROME. 

Rome,  June  14th,  1878. 

Your  description  has  made  me  live  over  again 
many  an  agreeable  hour  passed  in  your  house.  I 
would  like  to  see  your  company  before  it  dis- 
perses for  the  summer  and  learn  what  progress 
you  all  have  made ;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  I 
shall  have  this  pleasure  even  next  summer,  not 
to  speak  of  this  summer.  Europa  still  holds  me 
with  a  tight  grip,  or  rather  I  still  cling  to  her 
with  all  the  desperation  of  a  lover,  and  as  long 
as  I  take  such  interest  in  her  society  and  conver- 
sation, I  cannot  forsake  her.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  even  old  Father  Jupiter  fell  in  love  with 
her,  and  carried  her  off  across  the  sea;  I  intend 
to  do  the  same  thing  myself,  if  I  can  only  get 
her  on  my  back,  or  rather  into  my  head.  But 
it  will  take  at  least  another  year's  coaxing  with 
doubtful  results  even  then.  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain: I  am  going  to  bring  away  seme  of  her 
dresses —  fair  silken  garments  I  hope,  and  not  a 
handful  of  old  rags  long  since  worn  out  and 
thrown  aside.    .  . 

The  difficulty  here  as  elsewhere  in  this  world 
is  to  separate  the  Permanent  from  the  Transi- 
tory. Around  every  great  work,  particularly  in 
Rome,  is  heaped  a  mass  of  intellectual  rubbish  — 
the  accumulation  of  ages  —  which  often  hides  it 
more  effectually  than  the  dirt  now  being  carted 
away    from  the  Roman  Forum.     The  Laocoon, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  231 

standiug  up  so  clearly  in  the  Vatican,  to  many 
eyes  is  growing  invisible,  nay  is  buried  quite  as 
deep  as  it  lay  four  centuries  ago  under  the  soil 
of  the  Esquiline.  A  good  word  upon  it  is  always 
good  and  in  season ;  but  it  is  made  the  basis  of 
endless  conjecture,  disputation,  doubt,  until  the 
hard  white  marble  begins  to  dissolve  into  an  in- 
distinct im))alpable  fog  that  is  everywhere  and 
nowhere  all  at  once.  Such  worthless  toggery 
Europa  must  leave  behind,  together  with  all  her 
band-boxes,  when  she  crosses  the  ocean  with  me. 
The  truth  is,  I  suppose,  that  I  have  become  so 
infatuated  with  the  undraped,  that  I  want  either 
no  clothes  at  all  or  only  those  which  reveal  the 
true  shape  within. 

Italy  is  indeed  the  land  of  the  undraped,  not 
merely  in  Art,  but  also  in  the  customs  of  the 
people.  My  landlady,  a  beautiful  young  woman 
of  nineteen,  throws  off  all  outer  garments  during 
these  hot  days,  and  flits  through  her  rooms  in 
those  snowy  robes  which  alwtiys  bring  to  mind 
the  repose  of  night.  I  would  be  a  little  embar- 
rassed, but  her  husband  is  often  present  and 
seems  not  to  know  the  difference.  Her  jet- 
black  hair  and  sparkling  eyes  with  red  cheeks 
shading  into  a  light  brown,  are  splendidly  set  off 
aijainst  her  white  flowing  garment,  whose  free 
folds  show,  in  an  easy  negligent  way,  the  full- 
ness and  beauty  of  every  member  of  the  body. 
Who  could  help  drinking  in  artistic   inspiration 


232  EOME. 

when   such    shapes    are     continually     hovering 
before  his  eyes? 

Were  I  not  too  old,  I  would  turn  sculptor  in 
order  to  try  to  put  some  of  them  into  everlasting 
marble.  I  imagine  that  many  customs  of  the 
present  Italian  life  are  transmitted  directly  from 
ancient  Roman  times  ;  it  often  happens  that  some 
small  circumstance  recalls  and  explains  a  clas- 
sical author  or  event.  So  the  draped  as  well  as 
the  undraped  statue  becomes  endowed  with  life 
here  and  has  its  place  amid  the  people.  On  the 
streets  of  Rome,  Painting  and  even  Sculpture  can 
easily  be  accounted  for ;» there  walks  the  model, 
look  at  her,  a  Madonna,  or  perchance  a  Venus; 
examine  a  little  further  and  you  will  find  the 
social  conditions,  under  which  alone  Art  can 
thrive. 

Although  the  Italians  do  not  drape  the 
body  as  much  as  Northern  peoples,  they 
make  up  the  deficiency  by  draping  the 
character.  Actions  are  too  often  hidden  im- 
penetrably deep  in  dissimulation;  that  clear 
transparency  of  soul  called  candor  is  a  virtue 
unknown  in  Rome.  There  is  little  downright 
stealing;  but  cheating  is  the  first  principle  of 
commerce.  The  stories  told  by  the  resident  for- 
eigners chime  to  one  key-note :  universal  trick- 
ery and  small  remedy  from  law.  For  the  first 
month  I  believe  that  I  was  swindled  in  nearly 
every    purchase    I    made  —  still   I  ought  not  to 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  233 

complain,  for  certainly  everything  is  cheap 
enough.  This  Italian  foxiness  is  indeed  a  great 
historical  stiulv  —  it  is  the  mother  of  modern 
diplomacy,  of  papal  domination,  of  Machiavelli. 
Yet  what  wonderfully  sweet  appellations  do  they 
not  heap  upon  you  —  their  language  turns  into  a 
perfect  garden  of  the  most  fragrant  flattery, 
particularly  when  you  threaten  to  leave  your 
lodgings.  All  the  incense,  however,  is  thrown 
under  the  nose  chiefly  in  order  to  benumb  the 
judgment.  You  must  never  make  a  literal 
translation  of  these  endearing  expressions  into 
homely  blunt  English,  else  awful  is  your  decep- 
tion.. Be  like  Ulysses  in  the  grot  of  the  en- 
chantress—  drink  off  the  sweet  beverage  to  the 
bottom  of  the  cup,  but  always  have  by  you  an 
immortal  })lant  which  keeps  the  head  level. 

But  in  spite  of  their  perversities,  you  cannot 
help  liking  these  beautiful  beings.  Italy  is  a 
maid  whom  the  world  woos  ;  her  very  naughtiness 
becomes  attractive  after  a  little  time.  You  love 
to  lie  under  her  light  blue  skies  and  have  her 
scatter  rose-leaves  over  you,  although  you  know 
that  the  little  witch  is  merely  seeking  to  lull  you 
into  a  dream  while  she  intends  to  abstract  some 
coin  from  your  pocket.  But  her  presence  is  well 
worth  the  money  which  she  gets  by  both  fair  and 
unfair  means,  especially  from  me.  Enchantment 
and  instruction  go  strangely  hand  in  hand;  in 
your  room  you  read  of  the  greatest  events  of  the 


234  HOME. 

world's  history  while  under  your  window  rise  the 
strains  of  the  most  deliciously  effeminate  instru- 
ment, the  mandolin;  the  Great  and  the  Small 
blend  together  in  the  feelings,  producing  the 
strangest  harmony.  Full  of  the  greatness  of  the 
Imperial  Caesars,  you  set  out  for  the  Palatine, 
their  residence  —  what  a  change  comes  over  you 
when  you  peer  into  the  face  of  that  flower-girl 
who  stands  in  your  path  !  Do  not  laugh  at  my 
susceptibility,  it  is  the  crowning  glory  of  the 
traveler  to  make  a  romantic  adventure  out  of  the 
common-place  fact. 

A  few  days  ago  I  went  to  the  Barberini  Palace 
in  order  to  look  at  Guido's  famous  picture  of 
Beatrice  Cenci,  which  you  have  doubtless  seen. 
I  stood  before  it  a  long  time  and  assuredly  the 
impression  which  it  makes  is  very  powerful. 
That  pale  face  turns  around  and  looks  at  you  out 
of  its  frame,  it  tries  to  smile  and  even  coquette 
a  little  with  you,  who  are  gazing  on  it;  the  at- 
tempt, however,  is  very  difficult;  there  is  a  dark 
sorrow  overshadowing  these  features,  unfathom- 
able and  horrible  as  Erebus.  The  two  elements  so 
happily  blended  in  the  picture  are,  the  desire  of 
pleasing  and  attracting  the  world  on  the  one 
hand,  while  on  the  other  hand  this  quality  is 
overwhelmed  by  some  dread  calamity  of  soul. 
Leave  out  of  mind  the  supposed  history  of 
Beatrice,  which  merely  confuses  and  misleads; 
take  the  face  and  that  which  it  says,  and  that 


A  TOUR  IN  EUIiOPE.  235 

alone ;  thus  the  work  may  be  understood  in  its 
deepest  purport. 

Whiit  is  the  ground  of  the  universal  fascina- 
tion produced  by  this  picture?  For,  to  tell  the 
bold  truth,  it  is  the  most  popular  work  of  Art 
in  lionie,  more  enthusiastically  admired  and 
more  deeply  treasured  in  the  hearts  of  women 
particularly,  than  any  product  of  even  Raphael's 
pencil.  Beatrice  is  a  woman,  she  has  a  female 
peculiarity — she  turns  aside  from  her  calamity, 
casts  a  ghmce  upon  the  spectator  and  smiles. 
What  woman  has  not  done  the  same  thing,  in 
one  way  or  another?  A  lady  of  beauty  and 
fashion,  used  to  the  admiration  of  the  world, 
now  under  some  torment,  the  exact  nature  of 
which  it  woukl  be  rash  to  declare  — she  cannot 
lay  aside  her  own  character,  the  ocean  of  sor- 
row cannot  drown  her  desire  of  pleasing.  So 
she  turns  her  head  around  and  smiles,  going  to 
the  scaffold  perhaps  —  nay  going  to  Hell  itself 
in  her  own  opinion,  possibly. 

Perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  my  impression 
of  a  celel)rated  work  of  Sculpture,  Michel  An- 
gelo's  Moses,  which  I  saw  yesterday  for  the  Hrst 
time,  though  I  have  often  looked  at  copies  of  it 
in  America.  Powerful  beyond  utterance  is  the 
statue  taken  as  a  whole,  wdien  the  details  are  all 
toned  down  in  the  general  effect.  But  with  some 
of  these  details  I  cannot  reconcile  myself;  es- 
pecially the  two  horns  rising  out  of  the  head  are 


236  HOME. 

repugnant;  I  have  thought  of  many  grounds  to 
justify  this  strange  proceeding  of  the  artist,  but 
I  have  given  up  the  attempt,  it  must  remain  a 
mystery  to  me.  To  call  them  rays  of  light  — 
just  two  rays  of  light  —  that  will  not  do.  But 
other  details  are  the  most  perfect  of  their  kind ; 
that  beard  was  never  equalled  on  Olympus. 

The  best  part  is  the  left  arm — what  mortal 
man  does  not  tremble  at  the  sight  of  it,  though 
lying  in  repose  there  across  the  body?  It  con- 
tains the  possibility  of  infinite  strength ;  one 
asks  involuntarily  where  did  the  artist  get  that 
arm?  But  alas!  the  face  will  not  speak  to  me, 
or  only  mutters  discordant  unintelligible  sounds. 
How  gladly  would  I  hear  the  great  lawgiver 
converse  a  little !  Perhaps  if  I  cultivate  more 
sedulously  his  acquaintace,  his  lips  which  are  now 
only  stone  will  begin  to  move  with  life  and  utter 
something. 

Michel  Angelo  is  the  sjreatest,  most  universal 
artist  that  the  world  has  ever  seen ;  the  ceiling 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel  is  the  supreme  work  of 
Art.  His  genius  still  dominates  over  Rome  like 
a  God ;  everybody  grows  pitiably  little  beside 
him.  He  has  filled  me  so  full  that  I  cannof  say 
anything  about  him,  cannot  measure  him  at  all. 
Many  little  insights  into  his  works  I  think  I 
have,  but  my  categories  are  as  yet  insufficient  to 
embrace  his  enormous   entirety.     For  his  sake 


A  TOUR  jy  EUROPE.  237 

chiefly  I  shtill  have  to   return  to  Rome  id   the  fall 
and  try  to  surround  hiin  once  more. 

The  time  has  now  arrived  for  me  to  load  my- 
self with  my  gathered  stores  —  very  inadequate 
they  are  indeed  — and  set  out  for  a  less  burninLr 
climate.  It  is  quite  imi)ossibIe  to  work  here  in 
the  summer,  otherwise  I  would  stay  at  all  hazards. 
To  leave  behind  so  much  in  Rome  is  painful, 
though  the  separation  be  not  lengthy.  Passing 
through  a  number  of  the  more  important  Italian 
towns,  I  shall  gradually  creep  over  the  Alps 
into  Germany  and  hold  up  at  Wiesbaden  where 
I  may  stay  for  some  weeks. 

Rome,  June  15th,  1878. 

The  presence  of  my  St.  Louis  friends  has 
done  me  much  good  They  are  m  every  way 
congenial  to  mo,  and  I  pass  happy  hours  in  their 
society.  Before  they  came,  1  was  a  little  too 
solitary,  and  too  intent  upon  my  pursuit.  Now 
they  call  ine  out  of  myself,  and  compel  me  to 
tell  them  what  I  have  seen  and  thought  I  have 
visited  the  galleries  with  them  and  explained  m 
little  talks  my  views  upon  various  masterpieces.. 
This,  I  hope,  has  been  profitable  to  them,  but  it 
has  been  more  profitable  to  me.  It  has  com 
pelled  me  to  look  back  and  put  together  my 
scattered  ideas  —  a  thing  which  I  would  probablv 
not  have    done  unless    they  had    appeared    and 


238  ROME. 

given  the  incentive.  Thus  1  have  been  led  to  take 
a  good  deal  of  dehghtfui  and  advantageous 
recreation . 

Recently  I  have  met  two  sculptors  who  inter- 
ested me,  One  is  a  Jew  —  a  strange  fact,  since 
it  has  been  usually  supposed  that  the  Semitic, 
and  especially  ihe  Hebrew  mind  was  hostile  to, 
if  not  incapable  of,  plastic  art.  Certainly  the 
Old  Testament  worthies  did  not  take  to  graven 
images,  nor  did  Mahomet.  The  other  sculptor 
was  a  very  old  man,  originally  a  peasant  from 
Northern  Germany,  who  did  not  find  his  artistic 
vocation  till  he  was  nearly  forty  years  old.  At 
last  he  discovered  himself  and  reached  the  center 
of  his  aspiration  in  Rome.  He  has  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  ihe  most  pious,  if  not  the  only 
pious  artist  in  the  city  ;  him  alone  of  all  his  craft 
the  late  Pope  Pius  IX,  visited  at  his  workshop. 
A  hiiive  piety  and  reverence  shone  out  of  his 
face  as  he  told  how  he  was  making  a  Pieik,  a 
religious  image  of  the  mother  holding  the  dead 
Christ.  Verily  he  seemed  there  a  kind  of  incar- 
nation of  his  theme. 

As  you  have  a  bent  toward  philosophy,  let  me 
say  that  I  resolved  one  day  to  dig  a  little  for  it  in 
the  ruins  of  Rome,  since  it  was  no  where  apparent 
on  the  surface.  1  found  some  excuse  to  call  on 
Count  Tereuzio  Mamiani,  a  distinguished  phil 
osopher  and  politician  of  whom  I  had  read  a 
notice  in  the  Journal  of  Speculative  Philosophy. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  239 

He  met  me  cordially,  a.sserted  his  Platoiiism 
with  zeal,  and  then  launched  oft  into  an  attack  on 
the  priests.  He  inquired  about  the  philosophi- 
cal movement  in  St.  Louis  and  gave  it  a  nice 
little  compliment,  of  which  I  took  my  share,  of 
course.  Several  times  I  have  sauntered  to  the 
University  of  Rome  and  droi)ped  into  lectures. 
Once  I  heard  the  noted  ])iofessor  of  philosophy 
Luigi  Ferri.  Also  at  .i  talk  on  Dante  I  was 
present  —  philological  chiefly.  Twenty  Roman 
hoys  I  heard  construing  Livy,  rather  drearily  I 
thought.  I  was  with  my  Italian  friend  Giovanni 
and  1  asked  him:  How  did  you  like  it?  iVo7i  m^ 
piacey  said  he.  Latin  ought  not  to  be  quite  so 
dead  as  that  in  Rome. 

From  these  and  other  experiences  I  have  con- 
cluded that  my  mood  here  is  not  philosophical. 
Perhaps  the  unconscious  object  of  my  journey  is 
to  wean  me  from  a  one-sided  devotion  to  abstract 
speculation  in  which  my  good  genius  deemed 
me  indulging  to  excess  at  St.  Louis.  Certainly 
a  new  interest  or  new  line  of  interests  has  taken 
possession  of  me. 

Still  in  all  my  judgments  about  Art  I  feel  two 
philosoi)hic  influences  strongly  at  work.  One  is 
Brockmeyer,  whose  flashes  and  lucubrations  scat- 
tered through  years  roused  my  latent  bent.  The 
second  I  hold  to  be  Hegel  and  especially  Hegel's 
Aesthetic,  which  has  given  such  a  complete  and 
in  its  way  beautiful  organization  of  the  total  art- 


240  ROME. 

world  of  man.  With  it  also  I  communed  for 
years.  To  be  sure  I  already  see  that  in  some 
places  it  must  be  chantred.  Still  these  two  in- 
fluences I  can  recognize  as  often  coloring  and 
even  determining  my  native  tendency. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  quite  probable  that  I 
am  transforming  them  quite  as  much  as  they  are 
transforming  me.  Certainly  that  ought  to  be 
the  case. 

Outside  of  Art  and  Religion,   Rome   seems  to 
me  to  furnish  the  greatest  incitement  to  delve  into 
the  World's  History,  to  compel,   as    it  were,  a 
Philosophy  of  History.     The  Last  Judgment  of 
Nations  is    best  seen  and  felt    in  these  colossal 
ruins.     That  Rome  represents  a  grand  drama  of 
retribution,  is  an  impression    which    all    receive 
who    look   at    it  with   any  degree  of  sympathy. 
This  is  what  renders  the  work  of  Gibbon  so  great 
and  so  lasting:    it  occupies   the    center    of    the 
W^orld's  History,  and  portrays  the  judgment  of 
the  Tribunal  of  the  Ages,  in  this  case  a  negative 
judgment  which  is  executed  by    the    Destroyer. 
One  seeks  to  penetrate  the  grounds  of  this  long 
and    terrible    destruction.       But    the    tempting 
theme  I    have  to  shun  at  present,  only  casting 
now  and  then  a  glimpse  into  its  depths.     I  often 
feel,  however,  that    I  would   like  again  to  take 
my    Gibbon    in  hand,    and    read    the    colossal 
Tragedy    of    Rome,    which  Lie  has  set  forth  so 
magnificently,  and  I  think  poetically,  in  spite  of 


A  TOUR  IN  EUnoPK  241 

his  tendency  toward  abstract  reflection.  Here 
upon  the  very  stage  of  the  tragic  action,  with  its 
actual  scenery  of  ruins,  is  the  place  to  realize 
fully  tlie  mighty  pathos  of  a  world  going  to 
pieces  through  its  own  act,  yea  through  its  own 
guilt,  being  judged  and  condemned  by  the  Su- 
preme Tribunal  of  History,  whose  presence  still 
is  more  powerfully  felt  and  whose  hand  more  dis- 
tinctly seen  just  here  at  Rome  than  on  any  other 
spot  of  the  globe. 


Rome,  June  17th,  1878. 

Both  your  letters  have  been  received,  the 
cause  of  the  trouble  is  not  the  Post  Office,  but 
myself.  I  failed  to  notify  you  of  my  change  of 
address.  The  weather  is  growing  extremel  v  hot  j 
I  find  that  I  cannot  work  to  good  advantage 
here  durins:  the  summer  and  I  shall  soon  leave 
for  the  North,  When  the  wind  called  the 
scirocco  blows,  I  am  utterly  worthless,  1  cannot 
even  digest  my  dinner.  I  am,  however,  very 
well,  and  during  my  whole  stay  here  only  once 
or  twice  have  I  been  somewhat  indisposed.  Of 
the  so-called  Roman  fever  I  have  not  felt  a  trace. 

It  is  with  unwillingness  that  I  break  in  upon 
my  pleasant  routine  and  quit  my  quarters.  I 
feel  almost  settled  in  tins  city,  it  is  hard  to  move 
me.  When  one  becomes  accustomed  to  a  cer- 
tain   place,    every    object  wears    the    face    of  a 


242  BOME. 

familiar  friend,  from  whom  separation  is  not 
easy.  But  when  we  consider  that  in  no  other 
country  of  the  world  these  objects  can  be  re- 
placed, the  farewell  becomes  tender.  But  I  am 
a  little  tired  of  looking  at  so  many  things  — 
several  months  absence  will  do  me  good.  It  is 
at  present  my  intention  to  return  to  Rome  in  the 
Fall,  if  nothing  argent  from  America  calls  me 
back;  1  might  as  well  finish  the  enterprise  while 
I  am  about  it ;  besides  it  were  a  pity  to  break  off 
now,  when  my  thoughts  are  just  beginning  to 
take  a  definite  form,  and  all  the  Fine  Arts  com- 
mence to  join  themselves  to  History.  Much 
remains  to  be  done,  but  the  previous  chaos  in 
my  mind  is  slowly  growing  into  order. 

I  shall  be  unable  to  be  with  you  this  summer, 
but  I  have  by  no  means  forgotten  the  sport  that 
we  had  last  summer  in  the  Alleghenies.     There 
is    an  Italian  woman  tall  and  fine-looking,  who 
has  furnished    me    much   merriment   in  various 
ways,    chiefly   on  account  of  her  fear  of  water. 
She    will  not  cross  the  Tiber  in  a  skiff,  and  the 
sea  she  imagines  to  be  a  huge  monster  ready  to 
swallow  her,     *' What,  madame,  would  you  not 
cross  the  ocean?  "  I  asked  her.     "  No,  not  for 
the  world,"    she   replied.     "  Not    even    with  a 
husband?"     After    some     hesitation    she   said, 
•'Ah,   yes,     if   I    had    one  "      But    do    not    be 
alarmed,  she  is  a  grandmother,  though  younger 
than  I  and  of  course  a  widow. 


A  TOUR  /iV  EUROPE.  243 

I  bavo  just  returneil  from  a  walk  thiouc^h  the 
streets,  which  1  took  to  wear  off  a  <lark  humor 
which  was  haunting  mc.  In  one  of  the  nar- 
row alleys  I  saw  the  people  dancing  the  famous 
Tareniella,pn  the  rough  hard  pavement  An  old 
woman  with  grey  hair  was  one  of  the  liveliest  of 
the  whole  company — there  is  only  eternal  youth 
in  this  happy  clime.  But  one  fellow  was  the 
most  elastic  dancer  1  ever  saw — he  pulled  off 
his  shoes  and  capered  about  in  his  socks;  he 
seemed  to  be  made  of  India  Rubber,  his 
muscles  quivered  with  suppleness,  and  he  bounded 
to  and  fro  like  a  ball  —  he  was  man  turned  into 
motion.  The  gay  picture  cleared  uj)  my  spirits 
quickly  —  these  wretched  people,  even  when  old, 
have  in  their  possession  this  boon  of  boons,  en- 
joyment. It  is  almost  impossible  to  become  a 
brooder  here  where  both  man  and  nature  call  the 
mind  outwards  and  color  it  with  their  own  clear 
happy  tints.  Every  object  seems  born  of  sun- 
shine. How  healthy  for  the  soul  is  it  to  get  out 
of  the  industrial  coal-smoke  of  America  and 
cleanse  itself  once  at  least  in  life  1 

Some  German  friends  offered  me  an  oppor- 
tunity to  see  the  Pope,  as  they  were  going  to 
have  an  audience.  At  first  I  thought  I  might 
go;  but  as  a  ceremonial  dressing  is  required,  and 
the  etiquette  of  the  Papal  Court  somewhat  rigid, 
I  concluded  to  decline.  Besides,  I  felt  inwardly 
that  I  had  no  business   there,  that    my  distance 


244  BOME. 

from  his  faith  and  fioiii  his  purposes  ought  to 
exclude  nie  from  his  presence.  I  believe  him  to 
be  a  smcere  man,  but  sincerity  is  the  right  arm 
which  has  always  battled  for  fatalities.  Paul 
the  persecutor  was  as  smcere  as  Paul  the 
Apostle.  The  people  who  went  were  much  edi- 
fied according  to  their  report,  though  all  but  two 
were  heretics.  Their  praise  of  the  kind  and  gentle 
nature  of  the  Pope  was  very  warm  and  earnest. 

A  few  days  ago,  while  walking  with  a  friend  in 
the  grounds  of  the  Villa  Borghese,  I  saw  Queen 
Margherita  ride  along  in  her  carriage.  'She  has 
not  what  you  would  call  beauty,  but  her  face  is 
very  interesting,  from  its  kindly  sympathetic 
look.  Her  dress  was  very  plain,  and  I  can  well 
understand  why  she  is  so  popular  with  the 
masses  —  on  her  face  and  in  her  actions  they 
read :  this  is  mother  of  the  people.  Also  the 
King  I  have  seen  on  two  different  occasions.  A 
well-intentioned  but  probably  not  a  very  strong 
man,  he  will  hardly  be  the  ruler  that  his  father 
was,  Indeed  there  will  hardly  be  the  opportunity. 
Politically  Italy  ought  to  be  satisfied,  she  has  now 
enough  work  on  hand  if  she  develops  her  indus- 
trial and  Commercial  resources.  Yet  then  she 
would  be  ruined  for  many  purposes  —  factories 
at  Eome  would  soon  drive  away  the  tourist,  I  am 
afraid. 

There    has   just  been    held    an  election;    the 
issue  was  the  everlasting  conflict  between  Church 


A  TOUB  IN  EUJiOPE.  245 

and  State.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  take  much 
interest  in  such  a  political  struggle;  neither 
party  ought  to  be  triumphant ;  both  are  ready 
to  violate  the  rights  of  their  opponents.  How 
immensely  in  advance  of  Europe  is  America  on 
this  question!  With  us  it  is  settled,  and  settled 
without  wrong  to  either  party ;  though  s«me 
sectaries  insist  ui)on  dragging  it  into  our  politics, 
it  is  really  but  a  European  reminiscence.  In- 
deed Europe,  though  much  older  than  America 
in  other  respects,  is  politically  a  child  compared 
to  the  United  States.  Look  at  Berlin  to-day; 
the  great  German  Empire  is  undertaking  to 
suppress  opinion  by  wholesale  imprisonment; 
men's  looks  are  punished,  for  a  tailor  who  is 
said  to  have  looked  satisfied  on  hearing  a  rumor 
of  the  Emperor's  death,  was  condemned  to 
several  years  confinement.  As  if  the  history  of 
the  world  had  not  proved  that  each  drop  of  mar- 
tyr's blood  springs  up  into  an  avenger.  Politi- 
cal instrumentalities  are  rude  to  barbarism;  po- 
litical experience  seems  wanting  even  to  states- 
men at  the  helm.  Learning  they  may  have,  but 
not  sagacity  —  in  fact  I  have  become  disgusted 
with  the  practical  effects  of  excessive  erudition, 
it  reduces  men  to  a  second  childhood.  The 
American  backwoodsman  has  ten  times  more 
political  sense,  and  is  ten  times  more  fit  to  be 
the  free  citizen  of  a  free  state  than  a  learned 
German  Professor.     Strange,  is  it  not,  that  the 


246  BOME. 

most  cultivated  people  in  the  world  are  nearest 
the  condition  of  political  children? 

Day  after  to-morrow  I  shall  begin  my  travels 
again,  passing  up  through  Italy  across  the  Alps 
into  Germany  which  I  desire  to  inspect  close  at 
hand  and  see  if  I  can  more  definitely  find  out 
for  myself  what  is  the  matter  with  that  country. 
Some  deep-seated  trouble  it  seems  to  have. 


Rome,  June  17th,  1878. 

Three  months  and  a  half  in  Rome !  I  am 
naturally  in  a  retrospective  mood  this  evening, 
trying  to  bundle  together  not  only  my  things  but 
also  my  thoughts  before  taking  a  new  spring  in 
this  European  journey.  Something  of  a  change 
within  I  vaguely  feel;  I  shall  be  silent  about  it, 
however,  as  it  may  be  only  a  passing  mood. 

I  have  fluctuated  a  good  deal  about  what  I 
should  do  this  summer.  No  doubt  Rome  is  still 
the  center  of  attraction  for  my  world,  though  I 
feel  this  to  be  shifting  toward  Greece.  At  first 
I  thought  I  would  not  leave  the  city  during  the 
hot  weather;  then  I  contemplated  a  brief  stay  at 
some  place  on  the  sea  shore.  Also  I  entertained 
the  idea  of  what  is  here  called  the  villegiatura,  a 
summering  in  the  mountain  villas  and  towns 
around  Rome,  especially  those  of  the  Alban 
range.  Frascati  is  famous  as  a  resort  of  this 
kind,  and  can  be  reached  by  rail  in  a  few   min- 


A   TOUR  IN  EUEOPE.  247 

utes.  But  I  have  been  persuaded  by  my  German 
friends  to  go  North  for  the  season,  and  see  the  old 
Fatherhind  at  first  hand,  instead  of  being  satisfied 
with  that  reflection  of  it  visible  in  St.  Louis. 
This  trip  northward  I  regard  as  kind  of  deflection 
from  my  main  object,  still  it  will  not  hurt  to  let 
the  large  and  somewhat  turbid  mass  of  new  im- 
pressions settle  into  a  little  order  and  clearness. 

Naturally  I  have  laid  out  some  plans  for  the 
summer.  I  shall  see  the  river  Rhine  and  its 
lands,  the  scene  of  so  much  Teutonic  story. 
Perhaps  I  shall  realize  more  fully  its  character 
when  it  is  viewed  in  its  own  settini^:  of  Nature, 
and  shall  feel  more  keenly  its  contrast  with 
Southern  legend.  Thus  I  may  be  able  to  bring 
home  to  heart  as  well  as  to  head  that  distinction 
between  Classic  and  Romantic  so  much  insisted 
on  by  French  and  German  wa-iters,  especially  by 
my  two  chief  instructors,  Goethe  and  Hegel. 
You  see  my  mind  turns  instinctively  to  literature; 
which  is  indeed  its  ultimate  expression,  and 
which  has  almost  dropped  out  at  Rome,  since 
little  or  no  incentive  to  it  exists  here,  as  far  as  I 
have  been  able  to  find. 

It  is  midnight,  but  I  am  going  to  send  you 
another  little  echo  of  my  mood  which  has  been 
floating  around  me  all  day,  and  which  I  have 
caught  and  thrust  into  words,  after  considerable 
pursuit.     If   it  starts  in  you  a  brief  roll  and  re- 


248  ROME 

verberation  of  myself  as  I  feel  at  present,  it  will 
have  attained  its  purpose. 

Now  I  must  leave  thee,  O  Kome ;  there  is  a  loud 
clock  in  the  city 
Tolling  the  limit  of  time  when  the  sad  guest 
must  depart; 
Louder  still  I  can  hear  the  stroke  of  the  clock  in 
my  bosom. 
Smiting    with    hammer  of  steel:   now  I  must 
leave  thee,  O  Kome. 

Rome  J  June  18th,  1878. 

Everything  indicates  the  break-up  as    I  jump 

out  of  bed  at  daylight  and  take  a  sweeping  glance 

around   my   room.     In    one    corner   stands    my 

valise  packed  full  and  ready  to  be  picked  up  and 

taken  to  the  station.     On  my  table  lies  a  pile  of 

books,   some  of  which  I  shall  give  to  my  Italian 

friend    Giovanni,    but  the  mo«t  of  them  I  shall 

store  away  till  I  return.     For  return  I  must  after 

taking    a  kind    of    side    tour    or  loup  extending 

through    Northern  Italy  to  Germany    and  back 

again.     Such    little   loups    I  have  already  made 

from  Rome  to  Frascati,  to  Tivoli,  and  also  to 

Fiumicino    on   the  sea-shore,    where  I  stayed  a 

whole  day  looking  at  the  Mediterranean,  for  there 

was  little  else  to  behold.     As  usual,  the  view  of 

the  sea  started  in  me  the  epigrammatic  mood,  and 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  249 

the  billowy  movement  of  the  waters  gradually 
rocked  it.self  into  a  corresponding  movement  of 
words,  which  seized  for  imaginative  expression 
the  mythical  shapes  of  old  Hellas.  What  do  you 
say  to  this : 

Festive  processions  of  Nereids  drawn  by  silver- 
reined  dolphins 
Wind  in   the  curls  of  the  sea,  curled  by  soft 
Zephyrus'  hand; 
Shell-blowing  Tritons  rise  up  and  announce  the 
approach  of  Poseidon, 
Then  sink  under  the  tide  to  the  hoarse  note  of 
their  shells; 
Look  o'er  waves    to  the  line  of  yon  blue,  'tis  a 
festival  splendid, 
Thousands  of  deities  hoar  float  round  Posei- 
don's moist  car. 

So  I  toyed  the  hours  away  rehabilitating  the 
marine  deities  of  Greece  and  harnessing  them  in 
my  new  English  verse  (the  elegiac  it  is  called). 
Here  a  C()uij)arison  of  myself  with  myself 
strikes  me  and  I  shall  impart  it  secretly  to  you. 
When  I  was  crossing  the  Atlantic,  not  yet  six 
months  ago,  the  sight  of  the  ocean  stirred  in  me 
this  same  impulse,  the  struggle  to  rehabilitate 
for  myself  the  sea-gods  of  Greek  mythology. 
Then  it  was  the  Odyssey  which  came  up  to  my 
mind  with  its  shapes.  But  really  I  had  no  ex- 
pression of  my  own  for  the  Greek  world  at  that 


250  EOME, 

time;  I  simply  sported  with  its  images  and  made 
no  attempt  to  catch  them  and  fix  them  in  words. 
I  had  no  poetic  form  for  doing  so.  But  I  begin 
to  believe  that  I  am  getting  such  a  form,  one  that 
is  very  congenial  and,  as  I  think,  native  to  me. 
This,  of  course,  may  be  wholly  delusion.  But  for 
weeks  these  rolling  and  rollicking  versicles  have 
bubbled  out  of  me  at  the  view  of  land  and  sea, 
as  well  as  of  objects  of  art.  In  fact  I  find  my 
chief  pleasure  now  in  catching  their  elusive  shapes 
and  voicing  them  in  lines  which  trip 'to  this 
classic  rhythm.  Here  let  me  wind  up  by  trans- 
cribing from  my  note  book  another  little  whiff : 

Thou  must  behold  in  the  sea  not  merely  the  sea 
but  the  image 
Mirrored  down  in  the  deep,  changing  to  forms 
of  the  Gods ; 
Water   as    water    is    always  insipid  without    its 
reflection — 
The    fair    Nymph    in  the  brook,  Nereid  under 
the  sea ; 
But  if  no  deity  thou  canst  behold  in  the  rill  or 
the  ocean, 
Peer   once  more    in   its    glass,  there  thou  be- 
holdest  thyself. 


ZTbe  (Bcrman  Xoup. 

Orvieto,  June  20fh,  1878. 

Rome  lies  behind  nie,  and  before  me,  too,  for 
I  intend  to  return.  The  Roman  fever  is  a  reality, 
and  can  be  cured  only  by  drinking  of  the  Foun- 
tain of  Trevi.  Now  I  am  on  a  railroad  train, 
which  is  creep! Ui^:  up  the  valley  of  the  Tiber 
through  many  a  classic  scene.  Most  prominent 
is  Mount  Soracte — high,  chalk v,  hangino-  out  of 
the  clouds  down  to  the  earth,  one  imagines.  On 
the  summits  of  the  hills  lie  the  villaijes,  sur- 
rounded  by  old  walls  in  sunshine  and  rich  color. 
The  railroad  stops  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice, 
and  leaves  the  traveller  to  climb  up  into  the  city. 
So  we  go  bird-nesting  around  those  beautiful 
Tuscan  hill-tops  softly  blending  with  the  Italian 

skies. 

(251) 


252  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

The  Middle  Ages  have  written  one  word  over 
the  face  of  all  this  country — that  word  is  inse- 
curity. Gunpowderless  ages  they  were,  thank 
heaven!  otherwise  walls  had  been  no  protection. 
Up,  up,  under  the  hot  sun ;  past  an  immense 
bastion,  through  a  huge  stone  gate — now  I  am  in 
the  narrow,  well-shaded  streets  of  Orvieto, 
famous  for  the  excellence  of  its  wioe,  the  beauty 
of  its  women,  and  the  splendor  of  its  cathedral, 
all  of  which  virtues  are  to  be  tested  by  the  honest 
traveller  before  leaving. 

Good  luck  is  in  my  company,  for  to-day  is  the 
festival  of  Corpus  Domini,  as  well  as  the  anni- 
versary of  the  departure  of  the  Papal  traops 
from  Orvieto,  if  an  old  countryman  has  correctly 
informed  me.  Already  the  streets  are  alive  with 
peasants  and  citizens.  What  falls  into  the  eye 
first,  last,  and  all  the  time  is  the  play  of  color — 
color  everywhere.  The  crowd  forms  dancing 
waves  of  red,  blue,  green  and  yellow,  moving 
amons:  themselves  and  blending  into  one  another. 
It  is  as  if  the  parts  of  the  rainbow  began  to 
whirl,  change  places,  intertwine,  and  then  vanish. 
Every  countrywoman  is  tricked  out  gaudily  in 
colored  fragments  ;  each  different  portion  of  her 
dress  has  to  be  of  a  different  hue.  She  shows 
an  inborn  delight  in  color;  her  taste  is  rude, 
yet  sincere ;  she  is  not  the  creature  of  her  mil- 
liner. The  countryman  has  more  sober  tints, 
yet  varied.     His  chief  ornament  is  a  peacock's 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  253 

feiither  stuck  in  his  hat;  or,  if  this  extravaofanco 
be  too  great,  he  has  the  dark,  golden-shimmer- 
ing quill  of  a  cock's  tail. 

A  multitude  of  people  on  the  square  have 
formed  a  circle.  From  the  center  comes  a  shrill 
but  not  unpleasing  melody,  intended  for  the 
open  air,  and  not  for  a  room  enclosed  on  all 
sides.  I  worm  through  the  crowd  and  behold 
the  minstrels.  The  man  is  playing  a  harp. 
The  woman  sings  "like  a  cicada."  At  times 
she  tries  to  put  too  much  operatic  color  into  her 
untrained  voice.  I  look  around  to  see  if  the  by- 
standers are  not  laughing,  but  they  seem  to  en- 
joy just  that  color,  however  rude.  A  more 
plaintive  air  succeeds  much  better,  and  still  I 
remember  with  pleasure  the  refrain :  — 

♦'  Soave  albergo  di  goija  e  d'amor 
Teco  abandono  la  pace  del  cor." 

The  country  poet  has  some  printed  ballads,  of 
which  I  purchase  a  selection.  Strong  colors 
again  —  blood-curdling  story  of  a  murderer, 
rhymed  chronicle  of  a  famous  brigand,  desperate 
deeds  of  two  desperate  lovers  whose  union  is 
oi)posed  by  the  parents.  They  are  truly 
Italian  stories,  not  yet  refined  into  art,  but 
showing  the  very  bedrock  of  Italian   literature. 

I  have  to  think  of  our  country  people,  with 
little  or  no  love  of  color,  with  a  verv  slight 
poetical  strand  in  their  character.     Imagine  the 


254  THE  GERMAN  LOUP 

Illinois  farmer  coming  to  the  city  with  a  pea- 
cock's feather  in  his  hilt;  think  of  him  singing 
his  strains  on  the  streets,  or  even  listening  to 
"  mincing  poetry,"  which  to  him  is  worse  tlian 
"  the  forced  gait  of  a  shuffling  nag."  Patched, 
unshaven,  with  channels  of  tobacco  juice  running 
full  from  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  he  is  not  an 
aesthetic  being.  Dressed  in  butternut  or  blue 
jeans  from  shoulder  to  foot,  he  shows  little  feel- 
ing for  color.  But  he  has  other  and  sterner 
virtues  not  so  well  known  here ;  he  will  not  beg 
or  rob ;  industry  he  possesses ;  and  in  political 
intelligence  he  leads  the  peoples  of  the  world. 
Imagination  cannot  upset  him;  his  head  is  on 
the  same  dead  level  as  his  own  prairie. 

In  the  meantime  we  have  sauntered  into  an- 
other street.  It  is  time  to  look  up  ;  here  is  the 
Cathedral.  What  can  mortal  tongue  utter  now 
in  the  presence  of  this  architectural  face  looking 
suddenly  down  upon  you?  Imagine  all  the 
commonplaces  of  the  English  language  com- 
pressed into  one  word  of  admiration  —  that  word 
read  on  this  page.  Nearly  every  great  creation 
of  art  must  be  worked  into  before  its  secret  is 
reached,  but  here  the  beholder  is  snatched  up 
into  the  third  heaven  of  wonder  and  enjoyment 
at  the  first  glance.  I  can  truly  say  that  nothing 
which  I  have  yet  seen  in  Europe  has  produced 
so  strong,  and,  at  the  same  time,  so  immediate 
an  impression.     From  the  whole  the  eye  i^asses 


A  TOUB  IX  EUROPE.  255 

slowly  to  details,  and  Hiidsi  everywhere  an  almost 
microscopic  care  and  i)erfection.  The  very  first 
minute  one  fools  bound  to  the  edifice  with  cords 
which,  seem  to  be  made  of  his  very  soul. 

Here  again  the  effect  comes  from  the  mystery 
of  color,  fen-  all  the  flat  surfaces  are  filled  with 
mosaics  of  the  most  brilliant  hues,  except  the 
lovTcr  com})artmont.s,  which  have  sculptured  re- 
liefs. But  why  trouble  you  with  a  description 
which  must  remain  a  dead  letter  to  your  imat^iu- 
ation?  I  have  a  horror  of  a  description  of  a 
work  of  art  which  is  intended  for  the  eye.  But 
so  much  try  to  bring  before  your  mind's  vision: 
The  whole  facade  is  one  immense  picture  thrown 
open  to  sunlight;  its  frame  is  of  most  beauti- 
fully carved  and  diversely  inlaid  Gothic  work. 
This  frame  is  divided  into  compartments  by 
smaller  Gothic  frames  running  crosswise  and 
lengthwise ;  in  these  compartments  the  gallery 
of  pictures  is  placed  above  and  below.  Archi- 
tecture, therefore,  furnishes  the  setting;  sculp- 
ture and  painting,  each  in  its  own  manner,  fur- 
nish the  contents ;  all  the  spatial  arts  thus  unite 
to  celebrate  their  triumph  in  a  common  supreme 
unity.  The  harmony  of  the  three  arts  fills  you 
of  itself.  You  can  hardly  bring  yourself  to  look 
into  the  detailed  treatment  of  the  various  sub- 
jects there  represented.  The  church  is  dedi- 
cated to  the  Virgin;  so  these  frames  contain 
mainly  her  history,  written  in  brilliant  coloring 


256  THE  GERMAN  LOUP, 

for  the  eye  and  not   for  the  mind.     Let,  then, 
no  description  of  it  be  further  attempted. 

When  I  have  looked  myself  nearly  blind  in 
the  glare  of  this  fierce  Italian  summer  sun,  I 
enter  the  cathedral.  As  before  said,  there  is  a 
festival  and  religious  service.  Now  to  the  three 
arts  of  vision  the  fourth  one,  that  of  hearing,  is 
added,  which  sets  all  of  these  fixed  plastic  forms 
into  vibration  —  music.  Shall  I  not  say  that 
the  same  tendency  to  color,  to  rich  and  changeful 
variety  of  melody,  is  observable  in  this  art  too? 
Corpus  Domini  —  the  Body  of  our  Lord!  How 
the  theme  was  wrought  into  a  radiant  warbling 
chain  of  modulations,  linking  together  sorrow, 
joy,  despair,  and  heavenly  ecstacy  I 

An  inner  chapel  of  the  cathedral  is  thrown 
open.  There  is  the  heart  of  the  edifice  and 
of  the  faith  which  built  it,  again  uttered  in  color. 
Above  is  a  pyramid  of  faces  by  Fra  Angelico. 
Never  has  hea\  enly  serenity  found  such  supreme 
expression.  The  countenances  of  the  old  pro- 
phets there  have  suns  in  them,  and  they  look 
sunshine  into  you  forever.  Below  this  celestial 
group  is  the  other  side  of  the  universe,  —  hell 
with  its  agonies  and  contortions, — painted  by 
Luca  Signorelli  with  a  wild  demoniac  energy  as 
if  he  were  there  himself.  This  is  the  prophecy 
of  Michael  Angelo  aud  his  "  Last  Judgment." 
Look  and  pass,  —  guarda  e  passa,  — for  we  are 
in  the  nether  world  with  old    Dante.     So   near 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  257 

then,  Jiio  lieavon  and  hell  together  and  to  us! 
But  glance  upward  once  more;  that  pyramid  of 
seraphic  faces  looking  down  upon  you  will  diaw 
jou  out  and  up  to  itself;  color  is  now  beatitietil. 
Thus  one  looks  till  his  senses  get  transformed  if 
not  transfigured. 

From  the  cathedral  I  pass  to  the  town  walls 
not  far  off,  in  older  to  catch  a  breath  of  the  cool 
breeze  and  to  take  a  refreshing  look  over  the 
country  now  reposing  in  the  rays  of  the  setting 
sun.  Behold,  another  picture  with  every  variety 
of  outline,  color,  and  perspective!  Here  is  the 
true  background  to  this  Italian  life  and  art,  to 
this  very  cathedral  and  all  that  it  contains.  The 
eye  looks  forth  into  the  deep  blue  distance  till  it 
rests  on  other  summits  crowned  with  villages. 
Between  lies  the  many-hued  land-scape,  which 
also  furnishes  brilliantly  varied  yet  harmonious 
details,  if  it  be  carefully  studied.  Here  is  the 
school  which  nature  opens  for  her  children  over 
shadowy  vales  and  sunlit  heights.  Art  repeats 
the  lesson,  but  condenses  it  into  the  one  glowing 
surface,  like  the  facade  outside  or  the  faces  of 
the  saints  inside  the  cathedral.  Italy  is  indeed 
the  prism  of  nature  held  aloft  in  the  sunbeams 
and  changing  tlie  world  into  a  paradise  of  dan- 
cing iridescence. 

But  is  it  not  time  to  go  to  my  inn  and  give  a 
little  repose  to  the  eyes  inebriated  as  it  were  with 
color?  Yes;    moreover  it  is  dark  or  growing  so. 

17 


258  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

Nature  has  closed  her  gallery ;  nothing  more  can 
be  seen  to-day.  Yet  what  is  this?  I  come  to 
the  public  square,  in  which  a  vast  multitude  is 
asse'nbled ;  behold  another  exhibtion  of  color, 
now  set  off  by  night — fireworks.  These  again 
are  of  every  hue,  variety,  and  capricious  form — 
writhing  tortuosities  of  flame  representing  build- 
ings, portraits,  even  gleams  of  human  action. 
This  is  the  climax.  Color  is  now  intensified  in- 
to fire.  I  can  now  go  to  bed  and  dream — dream 
of  an  eternity  arched  over  with  rainbows  or 
girdled    by  the  walls  of  infernal  red-hot  Tophet. 


Orvieto,  June  22nd. 

Your  letter  reached  me  just  as  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  leave  Rome  for  the  summer. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  did  not  succeed  in 
obtaining  the  Discorso  which  you  so  highly  re- 
commended, though  I  went  to  Loescher,  and 
even  to  Propaganda  Fide  to  get  it.  I  shall  have 
to  defer  its  perusal  till  my  return.  Also  your 
further  orders  in  regard  to  the  Thomas 
Aquinas,  or  in  regard  to  any  other  matter  I 
shall  take  pleasure  in  attending  to.  Your  friend 
and  I  have  consulted  a  little  about  your  Aquinas, 
and  have  deferred  acting  till  fall,  when  you  must 
send  word  from  America.  In  the  meantime  we 
shall  watch  sales  and  catalogues  and  see  what 
can  be  done. 


A   TOUR  m  EUROPE.  259 

I  am  now  ou  my  way  to  the  North.  I  found 
that  I  would  almost  lose  my  summer  as  regards 
work  and  recuperation,  if  I  remained  in  Rome. 
So  a  couple  of  days  ago  I  set  out  for  Orvieto, 
with  the  intention  of  visiting  the  smaller  cities  of 
Tuscany,  on  my  way  to  Florence. 

I  had  a  little  tilt  with  our  lady  friend,  as  I 
took  an  opposite  view  on  Ital}'  to  see  her  ma- 
neuvres.  Of  course  it  can  not  be  expected  that 
we  should  always  agree;  we  arc  too  far  apart 
both  in  religion  and  in  occupation;  Catholicism 
is  not  my  faith,  and  newspaperisra  is  not  my 
literary  calling.  But  these  points  we  did  not, 
nor  should  ever  discuss;  they  are  to©  personal. 
Although  "  a  good  Catholic,"  she  is  far  more  of 
a  skeptic  than  I  am,  (in  the  larger  sense  of  the 
word).  But  these  differences  added  zest  to  the 
conversation.  At  my  departure  I  gave  her  a 
c»py  of  my  book  on  Shakespeare ;  as  a  token  it 
was  the  most  suitable  object  I  could  think  of, 
but  at  the  same  time  I  rather  wished  that  she 
would  not  undertake  its  perusal,  though  I  did 
not  say  so. 

As  to  Giovanni,  I  saw  him  quite  often  and 
became  attached  to  him,  gentle  and  affectionate 
soul  that  he  is.  Through  a  misunderstanding  I 
did  not  see  him  at  the  station  when  I  left.  Ho 
is  soon  going  to  Naples  to  study  Pompeii  and 
the  Museum,   but  chiefly  (if  I  undcFstood    him 


260  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

aright)     to     throw     himself    on    the    tomb    of 
Leopardi. 

Perugia,  June  23rd,  1878. 

Plenty  of  time  this  morning  I  had,  and  it  is 
not  too  warm,  so  I  conclude  to  walk  up  to  the 
city,  and  view  the  ever-changing  Italian  land- 
scape at  my  leisure.  Wagons  pass  hauling 
huge  stones  from  the  Station,  I  suppose,  and 
the  country  people  are  bringing  their  truck  to 
the  market.  The  city  lies  on  a  high  hill,  to 
which  the  railroad  refuses  to  climb,  but  stays 
down  in  the  valley  two  miles  away.  I  can  see  the 
buildings  as  I  approach,  in  which  20,000  people 
are  said  to  dwell  at  present.  Perugia  is  an  old 
Etruscan  city,  plays  quite  apart  in  Roman  his- 
tory, and  is  famous  for  its  art,  especially  its 
painting.  Very  picturesque  it  reposes  on  its 
lofty  hill-top,  and  asks  to  be  painted. 

But  another  mood  has  gotten  hold  of  me,  pro- 
voked, I  imagine,  by  the  passing  teams  and  men, 
as  they  toil  up  this  road  slowly  toward  the  city. 
Peruo-ia  has  iust  built  a  new  Town-Hall  and  made 
other  expensive  improvements,  (among  them  of 
course  a  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele),  inspired  by 
the  new  united  Italy.  The  traveler  will  cer- 
tainly sympathize  with  such  a  sentiment.  But 
when  he  learn^s  that  the  community  is  not  equal 
to  paying  its  debt,  he  begins  to  look  into  matters. 
The  provisions  for  the  inhabitants  have   to  be 


A  TOUR  IN  EUIiOPE.  261 

carted  up  this  long  steej)  road  or  a  siinilai'  one 
elsewhere.  What  a  tax  u[)oii  the  city  just  in 
this!  No  wonder  it  is  poor.  Yonder  wagon  of 
stone  painfully  })ulled  around  the  slope  by  jaded 
teams  becomes  very  expensive,  though  labor  be 
very  cheap.  In  America  the  city  would  come 
down  into  the  plain,  or  the  railroad  would  climb 
up  into  the  city.  Here  they  stay  miles  apart. 
So  Perugia  l)ays  dearly  for  its  lofty  site  and  its 
picturesque  outlook.  Long  ago  security  and 
probably  health  demanded  tiie  high  situation. 
But  that  time  is  past.  Orvieto  is  also  built  on  a 
hill-top,  and  must  give  a  heavy  toll  on  what  is 
carried  up  to  its  highness. 

Beautiful  it  is  and  princely,  still  it  leaves  the 
impression  of  decayed  gentility.  See  these 
laborers  sweating  in  the  field,  they  think  they 
are  working,  but  are  they  really?  I  saw  100 
men  in  the  Roman  Campagna  cutting  wheat  with 
the  old  Aryan  sickle.  An  American  reaping- 
machine  could  have  done  the  work  of  them  all. 
Here  we  reach  down  to  the  chief  reason  why 
Italy  is  so  poor,  and  a  beggar-  becomes  her 
economic  symbol.  She  cannot  quit  the  old 
order  and  adjust  herself  to  tiie  new.  Impossible 
is  it  for  her  to  give  up  her  hilly  nests  thousands 
of  years  old. — Well,  it  is  not  in  my  heart  to 
blame  her  though  she  has  to  pay  the  penalty. 

Now  I  enter  the  city  through  an  Etruscan 
gateway    and    find  many  foreigners  here  for  the 


262  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

summer.  They  pay  a  good  price  to  Italy  for 
her  beauty,  but  Italy  herself  pays  more  for  it. 
"O  that  she  were  less  fair  or  more  strong,"  is 
a  famous  sigh  of  one  of  her  poets. 


Perugia,  June;  24th,  1878. 

The  artistic  interest  of  this  place  centers  in 
Raphael,  who  was  a  pupil  here  of  Pietro  Perugino 
(in  1495  says  my  guide-book).  I  am  trying  to 
trace  his  genesis,  and  think  I  have  come  upon 
one  or  two  lines  of  it  in  his  master  who  is  well 
represented  in  the  art-gallery  (Pinacoteca),  and 
especially  in  the  frescoes  of  the  Exchange 
(Cambio).  These  frescoes  I  saw  some  German 
artists  copying  for  an  illustrated  work.  The  so- 
called  Umbrian  School  of  Painting  was  chiefly 
located  in  Perugia,  and  developed  a  certain  soft- 
ness and  sentimentality,  yea  even  tearfulness. 
"  Home  raves  when  Perugia  weeps"  is  a  pro- 
verb of  the  land.  No  wonder  that  Michel  Angelo, 
the  Titan,  blackguilrded  tender-souled  Perugian 
Peter  as  "  un  goffo."  The  early  form  of 
Raphael's  typical  Madonna-face  can  be  seen  here 
better  thaa»any  where  else  —  seen  as  it  were  in 
its  buddiuff.  That  face  is  found  in  all  the  im- 
portant  picture  galleries  of  the  world.  I  first 
came  upon  it  in  London,  then  I  saw  it  at  Paris  in 
several  of  its  best  examples;  in  Rome  are  many 
painted  images  (jf  it,  indeed  the  latest  and  most 


A  TOUR  IN  EUIiOPE.  -^63 

mature.  Very  suggestive  is  it  to  catch  its  germi- 
nal semblance  here  in  Perugia,  and  even  to  trace 
some  lines  of  it  back  to  the  artist's  master. 
Raphael,  you  know,  has  his  one  type  or  ideal  in 
all  of  his  various  compositions;  like  every  artist, 
he  has  his  one  ultimate  soul-form  reflected  in  his 
his  pictured  visages. 

When  I  came  out  of  the  Art-gallery,  I  wan- 
dered around,  thinking  of  these  matters,  and 
entered  a  side-street  where  I  met  a  little  girl  who 
asked  me  for  a  penny.  She  was  five  or  six  years 
old  and  chatted  artlessly  about  her  papa,  even 
catching  hold  of  my  hand  and  walking  with  me. 
Memory  rose  and  started  within  me  the  tear- 
ful Perugian  mood;  she  got  her  coin,  in  spite  of 
my  resolution  not  to  give  to  beggars,  and  skipped 
off  into  an  alley.  She  touched  my  tender  chord 
more  deeply  than  sentimental  Peter. 


Assisi,  June  25th,  1S7S. 

I  have  come  to  this  littte  town,  which  has  a 
very  important  place  in  the  history  of  your 
church.  Holy  Saint  Francis  belongs  here,  and 
from  this  spot  has  moved  kindred  spirits  through- 
out the  world  for  six  centuries  and  more.  He 
has  profoundly  touched  the  souls  of  great  poets, 
artists,  even  thinkers.  He  has  left  the  strongest 
kind  of  a  mark  on  Dante;  he  was  the  inspiration 
of  Giotto,  the  true  father  of  modern  painting; 


264  TUE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

nor  did  Aquiaas  by  any  means  neglect  him  in  the 
vast  theoh)2ical  ortranization  of  the  Summa. 
You  see  I  have  become  enthusiastic  about  the 
enthusiast  Saint  Francis,  though  I  have  passed 
only  a  day  here,  having  come  over  from  Perugia. 
The  medieval  religious  feeling  still  overflows  like 
a  fountain  from  the  hill  of  Assisi,  and  I  have 
been  taking  a  dip  in  it,  with  a  peculiar  delight. 

Can  I  give  you  a  brief  outline  of  what  this 
small  place  contains?  Near  the  railroad  station 
is  the  huge  church  called  Santa  Maria  degli 
Angeli,  erected  on  a  spot  connected  by  legend 
with  Saint  Francis.  It  is  in  the  style  of  the 
Renaissance,  which  you  know  was  a  revival  of 
Greco-Roman  Architecture,  and  in  general  of 
heathen  culture.  My  first  feeling  questioned, 
does  that  accord  with  Saint  Francis?  I  enter 
the  structure  and  then  stand  before  the  famous 
picture  of  Overbeck  dealing  with  one  of  the 
miracles  of  Saint  Francis.  I  confess  that  I 
utterly  failed  to  get  into  sympathy  with  the  edi- 
fice or  the  picture. 

After  a  walk  of  an  hour  I  reach  the  second 
great  church  of  this  locality,  the  genuine  Santo 
Francesco,  a  Gothic  cathedral  of  wonderful 
power.  How  different  and  even  sudden  is  the 
chanofe  is  the  attunement  of  soul !  There  I  looked 
and  felt  for  hours,  first  staying  in  the  upper 
church,  then  in  the  lower,  finally  descending 
still  deeper,  down  into  the  underground  cha[)el. 


A  TOUE  IN  EUROPE.  265 

which  contiiins  the  tomb  of  Saint.  Do  you 
know  thiit  all  this  was  a  new  and  peculiar  exper- 
ience, like  that  of  an  initiation  into  some  deep 
and  dark  mystery?  Three  churches  we  may  call 
them,  up})er,  middle  and  lower,  stages  of  man's 
spiritual  descent.  Then  comes  the  ascent,  the 
rise  and  return  to  the  outer  world  with  its  sun- 
light. One  cannot  help  thinking  of  Dante, 
makinor  him  along  with  the  Gothic  Architecture 
a  kind  of  expression  or  interpretation  of  Saint 
Francis,  who  is  about  the  best  religious  incarna- 
tion  of  the  Middle  Ages,  with  a  love  of  God  not 
only  flaming  but  at  times  furious.  Of  course  I 
did  not  neglect  the  ecstatic  frescoes  by  Giotto 
called  "  the  Franciscan  painter;"  impressive  but 
rude  was  the  form  of  a  colossal  Virgin  by  Cima- 
bue,  teacher  of  Giotto.  Recollect  that  Saint 
Francis,  the  Gothic  Church,  Dante,  Giotto,  all 
belong  to  that  pivotal  century,  the  thirteenth. 

I  had  myself  become  a  kind  of  Franciscan 
monk  after  passing  through  the  discipline  of 
that  church  and  its  art.  When  I  came  out,  the 
sun  was  declining,  and  I  felt  its  transitoriness 
and  mine,  and  the  vanity  of  all  terrestrial  things. 
Still  I  had  enough  mortality  left  to  feel  hunger 
after  nearly  a  day's  fasting;  so  I  went  into  the 
village  for  a  bite,  about  which  I  did  think  much. 
Then  I  took  a  little  saunter,  when  behold  a  new 
phenomenon  !  Nothing  less  than  an  old  heathen 
temple    of    Minerva     with      fluted    Corinthian 


266 


THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 


columns  supposed  to  belong  to  the  a2:e  of  Augus- 
tus. What  a  jerk  through  the  centuries,  from 
one  world  to  another  wholly  different!  It  had 
the  effect  of  tearing  off  my  Franciscan  cowl  and 
of  making  nie  feel  again  the  breath  of  classic  art, 
which  has  the  reconciliation  of  man  with  earth 
and  its  sunshine. 

Saint  Francis  must  have  often  seen  this  temple, 
from  whose  spirit  he  was  perhaps  the  extreme 
medieval  reaction.  But  another  genius  saw  it 
not  very  long  ago,  who  was  in  the  strangest  and 
strongest  reaction  against  this  reaction  of  Saint 
Francis,  in  a  mighty  swing  back  toward  classic 
heathendom  —  German  Goethe.  He  passed 
through  Assisi  in  his  Italian  Journey,  and  has 
left  a  somewhat  lengthy  account  of  his  visit 
All  his  thoughts  and  all  his  praises  were  heaped 
upon  that  small  heathen  temple,  whose  view  was 
to  him  "so  full  of  repose  and  beauty  as  to  satisfy 
both  eye  and  mind."  And  still  more  emphati- 
cally :  "the  impression  which  this  edifice  has  left 
upon  me  is  not  to  be  expressed  and  will  bring 
forth  imperishable  fruits."  But  for  the  Gothic 
pile  of  Saint  Francis  he  has  only  two  or  three 
contemptuous  expressions ;  he  never  entered  it, 
merely  looked  at  "the  heavy  thing"  from  a  dis- 
tance, and  then  turned  away.  O  universal 
Goethe,  that  is  not  universal,  but  quite  one-sided  ! 
This  very  Italian  Journey  will,  we  think,  give  thee 
a  great    lift  toward  universality,  ere  it  is  done. 


A  TOUR  IN"  EUROPE.  -^07 

But  he  will  not  in  his  present  mood  even  deign 
to  look  at  the  other  large  church  of  Saint  Francis, 
to  whom  as  the  anti-heathen  monk  he  feels  so 
deeply  anti[)athetic. 

Meanwhile  I  have  reached  the  station  and 
take  another  view  of  the  Renascence  structure. 
I  cannot  like  it,  an  utter  discord  it  makes  with 
Gothic  Saint  Francis,  who  at  present  has  become 
my  Saint.  When  you  travel  to  Europe,  you 
must  make  a  pilgrimage  to  this  spot  and  get 
ba[)tised  afresh  in  the  fountain-head  of  your 
faith.  Rome  with  all  its  Popes  and  Cardinals  is 
not  half  as  religious  as  is  Assisi  with  its  Saint 
Francis :  such  at  least  is  my  feeling.  This  has 
been  the  longest,  strongest  and  most  sympathetic 
dip  in  the  medieval  spirit  I  have  taken  since  I 
came  to  Europe. 

Undoubtedly  the  Gothic  church  with  its  art  is 
the  overwhelming  presence  on  this  little  spot  of 
earth.  Still  it  is  not  all  even  of  diminutive 
Assisi.  We  may  observe  here  the  ancient,  medi- 
eval, and  modern  ei)ochs  uttered  in  their  artistic 
representatives,  the  three  architectural  edifices, 
the  Greco-Roman  temple,  the  Gothic  cathedral 
and  the  Renascence  church.  Now  for  your  next 
club  write  an  essay  upon  Assisi,  or  you  might 
make  it  ai)oem,  having  that  epoch-making  genius 
Saint  Francis  as  the  hero,  and  taking  as  the  text 
Dante's  rapturous  account  of  him  in  the 
I^aradiso. 


268  THE  GERMAY  LOUP, 

Chiusi,  June  27t]i.,  1878. 

Go  back  now  withiue,  my  friend,  to  about  500 
B.C. —  only  a  lea[)  of  twenty-four  centuries 
almost.  At  that  time  the  town  from  which  I 
write  had  its  one  efflorescence,  and  has  never 
flowered  since.  It  was  an  old  Etruscan  city,  the 
chief  one  seemingly,  and  the  capital  of  that 
enigmatic  people,  the  Etruscans.  It  carries  us 
back  to  Tarquin  the  Proud,  and  early  Rome. 
You,  as  a  young  orator,  must  have  heard  or 
declaimed- at  school  Macaulay's  ballad: 

Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium, 
By  the  nine  Gods  he  swore. 

That  the  great  House  of  Tarquin, 
Should  suffer  wrong  no  more. 

And  so  it  runs  on  for  many  verses  with  a  dog- 
grelish  jingle,  rather  meagre  in  poetry  but  de- 
lighting (crede  experto)  the  school  boy's  heart 
by  its  passages  suitable  for  roaring  declamation : 

Shame  on  the  false  Etruscan, 

Who  lingers  in  his  home. 
When  Porsena  of  Clusium 
Is  on  the  march  for  Rome. 

The  small  town  (of  hardly  more  than  two 
thousand  people)  lies  on  a  considerable  eminence 
and  is  a  chief  center  of  Etruscan  antiquities,  of 
which  there  is  quite  a  large  museum  iu  the  place. 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE.  269 

The  inhabitants  still  take  pri(U?  in  their  Etruscan 
origin,  and  are  reported  as  ecjuaHy  ready  to  fab- 
ricate a  fable  or  an  antique  of  their  ancestors. 

Already  at  Perugia  I  went  into  some  Etruscan 
tombs.  Chiusi  is  hardly  more  than  one  Etruscan 
tomb  ia  which  the  living  have  a  share.  The  hill 
is  honey-combed  with  ancient  cemeteries.  It 
becomes  a  problem  why  that  old  peojjje 
should  place  such  enormous  stress  upon  the 
habitations  of  their  dead.  The  supra-terranean 
city  here  seems  of  little  inii)ort  compared 
to  the  subterranean.  Again  I  think  of  Tuscan 
Dante  with  his  single  emphasis  upon  the  future 
world,  and  his  vast  organization  of    the  Beyond. 

Chiusi  has  its  own  individuality,  being  still  an 
old  Etruscan  town  with  a  kind  of  ghostly  ap- 
pearance in  the  present.  The  type  of  the  forms 
and  faces  painted  in  the  tombs  I  fancy  I  can 
trace  in  the  folk  passing  before  me  on  the  streets. 
That  may  be  only  my  whim.  Siill  to  me  there 
is  a  kind  of  spectral  element  here  dominating 
the  real.  Lars  Porsena  was  its  greatest  man, 
and  he  certainly  has  become  a  dim  phantom.  I 
gazed  often  at  the  Etruscan  inscriptions,  which 
nobody  has  been  able  to  decipher  fully,  though 
the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  have  yielded  u\)  their 
secret  to  our  prying  century.  But  the  Etruscan 
mystery  lies  deeper.  Nobody  can  tell  who  they 
were,  whence  they  came,  what  were  their  racial 
atiiuities  —  Aryan,  Semitic,  Turanian,  or  some- 


270 


THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 


thing  else?  I  lie:ir  that  Corseu'sbig  book  about 
them — which  I  saw  at  St.  Louis  before  leaving — 
is  regarded  by  the  experts  as  a  failure.  Ayoung 
German  })rofessor  passing  through,  claimed 
to  read  their  words,  but  I  could  not  tell  whether 
he  was  deceiving  or  self-deceived.  At  any  rate 
the  Chiusans  have  their  unique  character  among 
these  Italian  burghers,  and  seem  to  reach  down 
to  a  deeply  submerged  vein  of  humanity,  which 
they  tap  and  bring  up  to  the  surface  to-day  in  a 
little  rill.  Of  course  I  drink  of  it,  and  go  away, 
perchance  intoxicated  somewhat  with  my  im- 
asinings  of  old  Etruria. 


Florence,  July  2nd,  1878. 

I  have  been  trying  for  five  days  to  encompass 
intellectually  the  considerable  city  of  Florence. 
I  have  hardly  succeeded  in  doing  more  than  com- 
pleting a  first  survey,  and  it  has  worn  me  out. 
Besides,  I  nmst  be  off,  if  I  am  going  to  get  to 
Germany  this  summer. 

Let  me  briefly  tell  you  what  impresses  me  in 
Florence.  Itproduced  one  supreme  world-histori- 
cal man,  a  poet,  whose  presence  I  cannot  get  rid 
of  here  —  Dante.  How  this  city  winds  through^ 
his  poem  and  through  his  life !  It  exiled  him,  he 
tried  to  hate  it,  cursed  it,  but  still  could  not 
help  loving  it  with  an  intensity  which  tore  his 
very  soul  in    twain.     Going  up  rnd    down  these 


A  TOUE  IX  EUROPE.  271 

streets,  crossing  the  bridges  and  looking  ut  the 
Arno,  one  has  to  think  of  him  and  bring  him 
back  again  with  that  face  of  his  which  has  cer- 
tainly  been  in  Hell. 

Another  colossal  figure  rises  up  at  Florence  in 
the  first  outburst  of  youtjjfiil  genius  —  this  is 
the  late-born  Titan,  Michel  Angelo,  whose  chief 
works,  however,  are  found  at  Rome.  I  have 
been  trying  to  trace  the  lines  of  his  genesis,  but 
am  as  yet  uncertain.  Let  him  pass  for  the 
present. 

Thp  most  attractive  visible  thing  for  me  in 
Florence  is  its  Palazzos,  which  herald  the  archi- 
tecture of  the  Renascence  in  its  most  original 
manifestation.  To  be  sure  there  was  for  it  the 
classic  model,  which,  however,  is  baptized  in  a 
new  institutional  order,  and  is  thereby  trans- 
formed, yea  regenerated.  One  feels  in  these 
structures  the  fresh  breath  of  originality,  in 
spite  of  Roman  reminders.  I  must  here  pay  my 
respects  to  my  printed  guide,  Burckhardt's 
Cicerone^  which  becomes  not  only  instructive, 
but  a  most  genial  and  inspiring  companion  in  the 
strolls  among  these  Florentine  structures.  Get 
that  book  with  good  illustrations,  and  you  can 
go  through  Florence  in  St.  Louis  with  a  sym- 
pathising friend  who  will  give  the  most  suggest- 
ive insight  into  its  art. 

Then  you  know  that  Florence  had  a  great 
political    career,    the     more    interesting    to   the 


272  THE  QEBMAN  LOUP. 

Araericim  because  it  called  itself  a  republic. 
Now  it  is  rather  a  dead  city,  in  spite  of  its 
170,000  living  inhabitants.  Its  latest  disap- 
pointment was  that  it  did  not  remain  the  capital 
of  new  united  Italjs  which  it  was  from  1865  till 
1871,  when  the  seat  of  government  passed  to 
Rome,  leaving  behind  in  Florence  a  colossal  hope 
blasted.  Still  to-day  Florence  probably  stands 
next  to  Rome  amonsr  the  great  Italian  cities. 

I  shall  now  have  to  leave  Florence  with  the 
strong  wish  to  see  it  again.  I  have  not  yet 
caught  its  distinct  individualitv  as  an  Italian 
city,  there  is  too  much  of  it,  past  and  present. 
What  strikes  home  to  me  now  specially  is  that 
each  of  these  cities  of  Italy,  even  the  lesser  ones, 
has  its  own  separate  character,  which  comes  of 
a  long  evolution  through  the  Ages.  Perugia, 
Assisi,  Chiusi,  smaller  but  strongly  individualized 
towns,  I  have  visited,  and  as  it  were,  conversed 
with;  methinks  I  have  seen  their  typical  man, 
and  know  him  in  outline.  But  I  can  hardly  yet 
say  that  of  Florence.  Still  I  must  be  off  —  auf 
Wiederselien,  hella  Firenze. 


A  TO UB  m  EUROPE.  ? 7 3 


Venice,  July  Isf,   1878. 

Hiding  down  the  Grand  Canal  in  a  gondola, 
and  looking  u[)  at  the  Venitian  Palazzos  which  rise 
out  of  the  water  one  after  the  other,  like  so  many 
sea-nymi)hs — would  you  not  like  to  be  in  my 
place?  Indeed  the  whole  city  emerges  from  the 
wavelets  as  a  real  Aphrodite  born  of  the  sea.  My 
head  being  full  of  the  Florentine  Palazzos,  I  found 
myself  trying  to  evolve  or  metamorphose  them  into 
those  of  Venice,  which  historically  came  some- 
what later.  I  cannot  tell  you  my  thoughts  now; 
besides,  I  think  they  ought  to  be  put  to  soak  for 
a  little  while.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Kialto, 
and  what  could  it  recall  but  the  Merchant  of 
Venice,  of  course  Shakespeare's?  Finally  we 
landed  at  the  little  hotel  on  the  Riva  dei  Schia- 
voni,  where  I  heard  nothiui;  but  German  with  an 
accompaniment  of  the  Tyrolean  Jodel. 

On  my  way  I  stopped  awhile  in  famous 
Bologna,  but  got  nothing  out  of  it,  not  even  a 
sausage.  And  yet  there  must  be  something  in 
it — music,  learning,  art.  I  could  not  even  con- 
firm the  Italian  proverb  which  calls  it  grassa,  fat 
Bologna.  By  the  by  I  heard  on  the  train  a  kind 
of  Italian  iniproviaatore,  who  made  everyl)ody 
laugh  with  his  broad  comedy  of  the  two  Popes, 
the  lean  and  the  fat  one  —  representing  the 
present  Leone  XIII,  and  the  last  one,  Pio  Nono, 

18 


274  THE  GEE  MA  N  LO  UP. 

who  was  so  good  heGau.segras.so,  combiuing  piety 
and  fatness.  And  yet  I  doubt  if  it  was  an  anti- 
papal  crowd,  in  spite  of  their  merriment  over  the 
Popes. 

Venice,  July  3rd. 

I  have  just  witnessed  that  grand  illumination 
of  nature  known  as  Venice  by  moonlight.  Dur- 
ing a  lengthy  walk  along  the  quay  in  the  evening 
I  watched  it,  and  still  from  my  window  I  can 
see  the  colors  playing  through  the  sky,  in  the 
air,  and  over  the  waters.  Of  course  it  is  im- 
possible to  give  you  a  picture  of  this  scene  in 
words,  for  languasre  is  not  and  never  has  been 
the  true  utterance  of  Venice;  painting  claims 
that  honor.  Still  I  may  help  you  to  imagine 
little  fragments  of  its  glory. 

The  moon  rises  over  the  lagoons,  beaming 
through  a  moist  atmosphere ;  this  spreads  over 
everything  a  silvery  bluish  tint  which  at  once 
captures  the  eye  with  its  mystery.  There  are 
clouds  in  the  heavens  varying  from  the  thinnest 
fleece  to  dense  folds.  With  these  clouds  Luna 
begins  to  play,  coquettishly  hiding  her  face 
beneath  them,  one  after  another,  as  they  fly  past 
her;  sometimes  the  thin  flock  scarcely  screens 
her  laugh,  at  other  times  she  i's  quite  concealed. 
But  mark!  with  each  change  of  the  veil,  the 
color  of  the  entire  scene  changes;  the  blue  be- 
comes deeper,    verging  into  dark,  often   tinged 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  275 

with  a  faiat  green.  Thus  sea  aud  city  are 
wrapped  in  an  atmosphere  of  dim,  weird  colors, 
always  slightly  shifting.  Palaces,  domes,  spires, 
as  well  as  the  sparkle  of  the  waves,  take  part  in 
this  play  of  tints  ;  seen  through  them,  every  object 
turns  to  a  dream.  Look  at  San  Giorgio,  with 
her  island  yonder  across  the  waters;  it  is  fairy- 
land, and  the  huge  church  dimly  rises  up  into 
the  skies  by  enchantment,,  cajjping  itself  amid 
the  clouds  with  its  lofty  dome.  Thus  Luna 
continues  to  play  hide-and-seek  in  the  heavens 
above  and  on  the  sea  beneath  till  she  drops  under 
the  horizon,  with  a  faint  new  tinge  of  blue  and 
green  always  following  her  motions.  A  celestial 
kaleidoscope  perpetually  shifting,  yet  without 
rude  changes  of  flashy  colors ;  it  is  the  strangest 
sight  in  Venice,  and  gives  the  prime  suggestion 
in  regard  to  her  art  and  character. 

Under  such  a  liiiht  flits  the  gondola  whose 
movement  you  can  see,  but  at  a  little  distance 
from  it  you  can  hear  naught  of  its  propelli no- 
power.  At  most  a  dull  thud  of  the  oar  and  a  slight 
splash  of  the  water  reach  the  ear;  silent,  sombre 
mysterious,  it  moves  along  over  the  dim  surface 
like  a  spectre.  The  gondola  is  painted  black, 
and  its  box  is  covered  with  crape;  in  the  daytime 
I  ctinnot  look  upon  one  without  thinkino^  of  a 
a  cottin.  It  is  a  melancholy  vehicle,  in  spite  of 
all  the  poetry  which  has  been  lavished  upon  it; 
to  me  it  seems  to  be  in  eternal  mourniutr  for  the 


276  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

lost  glory  of  Venice.     But  under  the  light  of  this 
moon  it  .becomes  a  ghost — a  dark  water-sprite. 

The  mood  which  such  a  scene  excites  in  the 
stranger  cannot  be  called  cheerful,  jet  it  is  not 
unpleasant.  He  has  too  much  wonder  at  the 
spectacle,  and  wonder  does  not  admit  of  gloomi- 
ness to  any  great  extent.  It  is  a  picture  which 
nature  offers,  and  which  the  artist  has  but  to 
copy  faithfully  in  order  to  produce  his  mood  in 
the  beholder.  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  ever 
seen  nature  so  much  like  a  painted  picture  and 
so  full  of  moods;  usually  one  must  be  in  har- 
mony with  her  in  order  to  feel  what  she  subtly 
suggests,  but  here  she  forces  her  spirit  upon  you 
and  attunes  you  overpoweringly  to  her  own  key- 
note. In  all  the  shops  on  the  Phice  of  St.  Mark 
are  to  be  seen  photographs  of  views  of  Venice 
by  moonlight;  they  are  good,  but  altogether  too 
exaggerated,  and  of  course  the  main  thing,  the 
ceaseless  change  and  interplay  of  colors,  is  not  and 
cannot  be  reproduced.  But  what  a  contrast  be- 
tween the  old  and  the  new — photography  now 
instead  of  the  living  brush,  the  machine  instead 
of  the  spirit  breaking  forth  into  many-hued 
utterance!  This  nature  is  still  before  the  eye  of 
Venice,  but  is  no  longer  concentrated  and  inten- 
sified into  soul. 

Passing  to  the  human  centre  of  the  picture,  we 
note  the  Venetian  woman,  who  can  hardly  be 
called  beautiful  now;   she    is  too  lank  in    form, 


A  TOUE  IN  EUROPE.  277 

too  peaked  in  face.  But  above  all,  her  com- 
plexion seems  to  have  little  adumbration  of  Ve- 
netian nature ;  it  is  sallow,  often  passing  into  a 
a  jaundiced  yellow,  which  is  not  a  color  of 
beauty  in  the  human  face.  Morbid  they  call  it 
themselves,  and  attribute  it  to  the  moist  climate. 
In  general  she  has,  with  this  morbid  complexion, 
an  air  of  decayed  beauty,  like  her  native  city. 
The  garments  of  a  high-born  dame  whom  you 
see  with  her  maid  in  the  streets,  have  a  very 
ancient  look ;  possibly  they  are  the  heirloom  of 
her  wealthy  ancestors.  Thus  tlie  past  is  the 
only  interesting  part  of  Venice.  To  me  it  is  a 
most  melancholy  city — a  dead  city,  whose  pallor 
has  sunk  into  the  cheeks  of  its  fairest  women. 
You  can  often  see  the  blonde  of  the  old  Venetian 
l)ainters  on  the  streets,  walking  alongside  of  her 
raven-haired  sister.  Titian's  golden  locks  are 
hardly  to  be  seen  any  where  except  in  his  pictures. 
There  never  was  such  a  head  of  hair  as  flows 
down  the  bosom  of  hisMagdalen.  lie  also  paints 
dark  hair,  particularly  in  the  Madonna.  It  may 
be  an  impious  thought,  but  give  me  in  her  stead 
the  artist's  golden  Venus,  in  whom  alone  all  his 
glories  are  centered.  Titian  is  emphatically  the 
most  ideal,  and,  therefore,  the  greatest  painter 
that  Venice  has  produced.  1  cannot  endure  Tin- 
toretto, and  am  but  partially  reconciled  to  Paul 
Veronese.  Tintoretto  has  colored  what  seems 
to  be  almost    an  acre  in  the  Doge's    palace.     I 


278 


THE  GERMAN'  LOUP. 


confess  that  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  study  out 
his  immense  paintings.  But  so  much  one  clearly 
sees :  he  has  lost  the  ideal  concentration  of  the 
early  Venetian  school.  One  face  by  Titian  is 
worth  thousands  by  him,  because  Titian's  is  a 
a  type,  and  creative  in  itself.  It  is  the  old  story 
of  decline ;  Art  is  lost  in  a  one-sided  pursuit  of 
Nature,  in  her  infinite  multiplicity;  it  becomes 
realistic,  debased,  dreadfully  tedious.  So  I  turn 
avvav  from  color;  for  what  is  color  but  a  means 
of  portraying  that  which  is  eternal?  But  Titian's 
Venus  is  his  supreme  work,  nay,  at  bottom,  his 
only  work,  for  what  are  those  other  works  of 
his — called  by  various  names:  Magdalen,  Danae, 
Bella — but  variations  of  the  same  fundamental 
ideal  vision  in  the  artist's  soul?  They  are  all 
one,  his  one  work  ;  Venice's  supreme  work  of  art, 
too.     Therein  the  city  of  the  sea  culminates. 

Still  I  confess  to  another  Venetian  love; 
Bellini's  Madonna.  When  you  stand  before  her 
face  and  gaze  into  it,  you  feel  that  it  too  is  a 
true  utterance,  not  an  artificial  thing.  She  is 
not  the  holy  mother,  —  not  a  mother  at  all,  I 
should  say ;  her  look  is  that  of  absolute  virgin 
innocence,  unconscious  of  maternity  ;  she  has  not 
even  that  far-off  presentiment  of  her  lot  which 
lurks  in  the  glance  of  Raphael's  Madonnas.  A 
child  herself,  just  beginning  to  unfold,  you  in- 
voluntarily ask.  What  is  she  doing  with  that  in- 
fant  in  her  arms?     Still  she    has  it,    and  it  is 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  279 

hers;  nuy,  the  centre  of  all  that  she  is  to  be. 
A  coy,  wondering  look  she  has,  wondering  what 
it  all  means — such  is  the  glance  into  that  un- 
conscious world  of  sweet  virginal  innocence 
which  old  Giovanni  Bellini  gives  us.  Think  of 
him  painting  such  a  face  at  eighty  years  of  age; 
the  vision  of  eternal  youth  which  the  artist  must 
not  only  have,  but  must  live  in  as  his  own  proper 
element.  Bellini's  Madonna,  I  must  confess 
to  you  privately,  has  an  additional  claim  upon 
my  heart;  she  is  the  type  of  fair  Thusnelda,  a 
young  lady  who  once  gave  much  trouble  to  my 
youthful  imagination.  When  I  first  saw  the 
best  one  of  these  Bellini  faces  some  time  ago  in 
the  Academy,  I  was  stunned  at  the  sight;  the 
old  pain  darted  back  through  nearly  a  quarter  of 
a  century.  Even  now  I  seem  to  have  renewed 
a  former  broken  tie,  looking  upon  that  picture. 
So  Venice  has  given  me  her  jewel;  it  is  the  best 
present  she  has  for  me,  I  know ;  therefore,  to- 
morrow I  am  off  with  my  fond  possession. 


280 


THE  GEBHAN  LOUP. 


Riva,  July  7th.,  1878. 

You  never  heard  of  this  town  I  dare  say. 
Take  down  your  hirge  map  of  Italy  and  hunt  up 
Lake  Guarda;  at  the  head  of  it  lies  Eiva,  to 
which  I  have  just  come  by  a  little  boat  from 
Peschiera,  which  is  on  the  south  end  of  the  lake. 
To-morrow  we  are  to  strike  across  the  mountains, 
in  an  omnibus  to  Mori,  where  we  take  the  rail- 
road which  is  to  swing  us  over  the  Alps  to 
Innspruck. 

I  had  my  last  sail  in  the  lagoons  of  Yenice  on 
the  Fourth  of  Julv,  thus  celebrating  our  national 
holiday,  after  seeing  myself  almost  to  death  on 
Venetian  color.  I  stopped  a  little  while  at  Padua 
a  town  of  the  past;  also  I  remained  a  full  day 
at  Verona  where  there  is  a  good  deal  to  be  seen. 
Of  course  I  was  in  company  with  both  Dante  and 
Shakespeare  in  that  city  and  saw  their  houses,  that 
is,  the  places  connected  with  their  names.  In  the 
huge  Eoman  amphitheater  was  a  theatrical  piece 
in  which  the  love  catastrophe  called  up  that  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet  of  course,  whose  tragedy  has 
colored  Verona  for  every  Anglo-Saxon  traveler. 
An  inscription  on  a  prominent  house  designates 
the  actual  locahty  of  the  lovers,  where  I  thought 
I  saw  two  girls,  supposedly  English,  gazing  up- 
ward to  see  the  real  balcony.  Thus  youthful 
William  Shakespeare  has  created  an  emotional 
world  and  put  us  all  into  it,  even  at  Verona. 


A  TOUIi  IN  EUROPE.  281 

To-morrow,  theu,  we  cross  the  Alpine  wiiter- 
shed  which  so  long  divided  Europe  iuto  civilized 
and  barbarous,  aud  which  is  still  the  separating 
line  between  two  different  civilizations,  Latin 
and  Teuton,  whose  strife  seems  not  yet  over.  1 
am  now  to  make  a  sudden  dive  from  one  into  the 
other,  and  I  wonder  how  I,  not  native  to  either, 
but  sympathetic  with  both  (if  I  know  myself  in 
such  big  things),  shall  take  the  Teutonic  dip. 
Will  the  backstroke  from  the  classic  world  be  too 
strong  for  me? 

InnsprucJc  July  8tJi,  1878. 

In  crossing  the  mountains  a  great  variety  of 
Alpine  landscape  was  unrolled  before  us,  some- 
what like  a  panorama.  Besides  a  shifting  line 
of  high  mountains,  we  had  clouds,  showers, 
winds,  snow  in  the  distance  with  the  sunshine 
playing  peek-a-boo  at  us  through  storms  and 
over  summits. 

I  kept  trying  all  my  day's  ride  to  construe 
these  Alps  and  their  people.  Has  Switzerland 
or  Tyrol  ever  produced  a  great  man  of  the  first 
class?  Hardy  and  excellent  characters  they  have 
nurtured,  the  inhabitants  are  all  of  that  sort, 
and  nearly  of  the  same  even  grade.  The  Alps 
seem  to  be  levelers  of  men,  in  spite  of  their 
lofty  altitudes;  they  naturally  i)ring  forth  rc- 
j)ublicans  and  rejmblics.  These  towering 
heights  a[)pear  to  weigh  do.vMi  towering  indivitl- 


282 


THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 


uals;  this  picturesque  Alpine  scenery   has  pro- 
duced no  great    painter,    no    great    poet.     Yet 
poetry  and  painting  seem  to  lie  here  waiting  to 
be  picked  up  by  the  way.     This  Nature's  most 
imposing    architecture    and  sculpture  appear  to 
have   found  no  adequate  response   in    her  own 
children,    though  she  has    not  failed  to  inspire 
foreigners.     Switzerland  has  indeed  produced  a 
hero,  William  Tell,  but  he  is  now  pronounced  a 
myth.     And  even  as  jnythical  he  has  had  to  go 
to  other  lands  for  artistic  embodiment;   German 
Schiller    has    written     his    drama,     and  Italian 
Rossini  his  music.     It  would  seem  that  Nature's 
immediate  impression  is  not  artistically  creative, 
so    that  the  Alps  have    to  leave  Switzerland  in 
order  to    be  reproduced    in    art  and   literature. 
How  unlike  that  other  famous  cluster  of  repub- 
lics in  mountainous  Greece!     The  Swiss  canton 
makes  a  different  republic  from  the  Greek  city, 
which    certainly  had    the    power    of    producing 
great  individuals. 

There  is  another  striking  contrast  which  I  find 
here  between  Nature  and  Man :  the  works  and 
forms  of  the  one  are  colossal,  of  the  other  di- 
minutive. The  Swiss  bent  is  to  make  little 
things,  watches,  carvings,  jewelry,  often  ex- 
quisite. Great  individuals,  greatness  of  all 
human  kinds  seem  absent  from  these  great 
mountains.       Are    my    statements    too    broad? 


A   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  283 

Pare    thoiu  down,  and    I  think  you  will    find  in 
what  is  left  the  same  truth. 

Yet  who  does  not  admire  the  Swiss  and  take 
delifi'ht  in  Semnach  and  Morojarten?  The  con- 
trast,  however,  between  Nature  and  Man  is  what 
strikes  an  American  of  the  West  in  this  free 
land.  That  the  human  being  should  be  leveled 
and  a  leveler  on  the  level  prairie  of  Illinois  is  in 
accord  with  the  environment,  in  which  sprang  up 
Abraham  Lincoln,  rather  the  greatest  leveler  in 
the  World's  History,  ironing  out  into  a  kind  of 
political  equality,  even  two  diverse  races,  white 
and  black.  One  might  expect  some  individuals 
born  in  the  Alps  to  tower  aloft  not  merely  over 
their  own  land  but  over  Europe  like  Matterhorn 
and  Jungf  rau  ;  but  where  are  they?  But  Ictus 
note  the  good  thing  also :  very  evenly  distributed 
among  the  people  are  seemingly  the  human  ex- 
cellences, and  equality  becomes  the  s[)i ritual 
trait  of  the  most  unequal  country  in  Europe. 


Munich  Jul}/  11th,  1878. 

For  two  days  and  more  I  have  been  trying  to 
see  and  to  comprehend  Munich  on  that  side  which 
has  rendered  it  famous.  It  is  an  art-city  made 
largely  to  order,  determined  beforehand  to  be 
artistic.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  this  char- 
acter runs  through  all  its  products:  intention 
dominates  spontaneity,  not  suppressing  it,  how- 


284  THE  GEE  MAX  LOUP. 

ever.  I  have  had  to  repeat  to  myself  a  hundred 
times  that  favorite  line  in  German,  which  I 
have  often  heard  you  quote — iu  fact  I  learned  it 
from  you : 

Man  merld  die  Absicht  und  so  ivird  versfimmt. 

Pinakothek  and  Glyptothek  I  went  through 
with  some  diligence,  but  of  course  too  rapidly. 
I  stayed  longest  with  the  Eginetan  sculptures, 
studying  their  place  in  the  evolution  of  Plastic 
Art.  This  somehow  is  the  chief  attraction  since 
it  always  points  me  ahead  to  Greece  whither  my 
thoughts  and  my  longings  now  tend.  You  must 
take  this  fact  into  account  if  you  would  under- 
stand my  judgments,  which  I  express  so  freely 
to  you  on  the  spot;  Germany,  your  old  home, 
is  not  my  end,  but  a  kind  of  resting-place  on 
the  way  to  Hellas. 

That  which  I  like  most  here  is  the  Greek 
Kenascence,  quite  different  from  the  Roman  one, 
which  prevails  in  Italy.  Munich  has  gone  back 
to  the  monuments  of  ancient  Greece  and  has  re- 
produced them  rather  than  the  Rwman  reproduc- 
tion. Hence  it  comes  that  the  artistic  atmos- 
phere is  different  from  the  Italian,  though  both 
the  Bavarian  and  the  Italian  Renascences  reach 
back  to  Hellas  for  their  original  inspiration.  A 
Bavarian  prince  was  chosen  for  the  throne  of 
New  Hellas,  and  thus  a  stream  of  influence  flowed 
between  the  two  lands.  Leo  von  Klenze's 
Propylaja  I  liked  much,  and  I  believe  it  to  be  a 


A  TOVli  m  EUROPE.  285 

good  de:il  more  than  a  mere  nie(.hanical  copy ; 
still  its  strougest  cffeet  was  to  make  me  dream 
of  seeing  its  prototype  on  the  Athenian  Acro- 
polis. Germany  seeks  and  has  always  sought  to 
appropriate,  or,  in  Goethe's  syml)ol,  to  woo  and 
marry  Helen.  Prodigeous  is  and  has  been  the 
German  fervor  in  this  regard  (like  mine,  I  may 
whisper  to  you  parenthetically);  still  our  Faust 
remains  quite  different  from  Helen,  who  indeed 
dies  in  his  hands. 

Now  I  am  going  to  state  to  you,  a  German, 
the  opinion  which  has  been  dawning  upon  me 
here :  Formative  Art  is  not  and  never  has  been 
and  probably  never  will  be  the  truei't  and  deepest 
expression  of  the  German  Spirit.  I  believe  its 
native,  profoundly  instinctive  utterance  is  to  be 
found  in  its  Music,  in  its  Poetry,  and  in  its 
Philosophy.  In  each  of  these  spheres  it  has  pro- 
duced a  supreme  universal  genius,  Beethoven, 
Goethe,  Hegel  (or  Kant  if  you  will),  along  with 
lesser  lights  who  would  be  the  greatest  else- 
where. But  who  is  the  painter  or  sculptor  to 
be  compared  with  these  three?  They  are  the 
genuine,  unforced,  unborrowed  outburst  of  the 
German  Folk-Soul,  welling  up  from  its  pro- 
foundest  depths.  But  when  it  comes  to  German 
painting,  and  German  sculpture,  there  remains 
something  alien,  acquired,  imported,  really  un- 
German  in  it  to  the  last,  with  all  its  care,  and 
learning  and  attention  to  details.      Did  you  ever 


286  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

hear  of  that  Muxiiiiiliaii  Street  in  which  a 
Bavarian  king  undertook  to  produce  a  new 
architectural  style  by  erudite  combination? 
That  was  here  in  Munich,  and  has  something 
typical  in  it  to  me. 

GUjry  enough  for  old  Deutschland  it  is  to  be 
supreme  musician,  poet  and  philosopher  to  our 
modern  world.  Let  me  add  that  the  Anglo-Saxon 
has  to  give  up  supremacy  in  two  of  these  forms  of 
expression;  he  is  no  musician,  but  he  is  a  poet, 
and  he  is,  I  maintain,  no  philosopher  in  spite 
Locke  and  Bacon  who  are  more  the  negation  of 
philosophy  than  its  positive  assertion.  But  the 
Anglo-Saxon  (English  and  American)  is  su- 
premely the  builder  of  institutions,  particularly 
of  the  State ;  this  really  has  been  his  grand  his- 
toric task,  which  he  has  performed  not  only  for 
himself  but  seemingly  for  the  rest  of  the  world. 
I  find  every  European  nation  (the  chief  excep- 
tion is  Russia)  trying  to  introduce  and  to  work 
English  constitutional  government. 

So  much  for  Munich  and  its  art,  into  which  I 
have  been  plunged  directly  from  Italy,  and  I 
confess  the  dip  has  made  me  shiver  a  little  — 
which  indeed  may  be  the  fault  of  the  baby  and 
not  of  the  bath. 


A  TOUR  IX  EUliOPE.  287 

Wiesbaden,  July  12ih,  1878. 

Arrived  to-day.  I  drop  this  line  to  let  you 
know  that  I  shall  be  here  some  six  weeks  or 
more,  and  that  if  you  write  at  once,  your  letter 
will  easily  reach  me  before  I  leave.  Indeed  you 
can  write  a  long  one,  telling  me  specially  about 
our  common  friend  Brocknieyer,  into  whose  land 
I  have  now  come.  This  may  be  deemed 
Goethe's  early  stamping-ground,  as  not  far  off 
lies  Frankfort  where  he  was  born.  Somehow 
Brocknieyer  and  Goethe  have  become  intergrown 
in  my  mind.  Also  the  Rhine  flows  distant  only 
a  pleasant  promenade.  But  best  of  all,  some  old 
congenial  friends  from  St.  Louis  are  temporarily 
located  here,  in  whose  society  delightful  weeks 
will  soon  wing  themselves  away.  And  then  — 
but  none  of  that  now. 


Wiesbaden^  Aug.  2nd,  1878. 

What  is  the  matter  with  you  in  St.  Louis? 
The  whole  city  seems  to  be  sunstruck.  As  yet 
I  have  not  seen  that  any  of  our  friends  have 
fallen,  though  it  is  not  likely  that  all  the  cases 
are  reported  in  the  newspapers.  I  begin  to  feel 
anxious  about  you  all,  for  it  seems  from  this  dis- 
tance that  you  are  or  were  goino;  literally  to  the 
Infernal  Re^jfions.     Your  last  letter  gave  me  some 


288  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

though  by  no  means  complete  relief  in  regard  to 
Alice,  in  as  much  as  you  state  that  she  is  at  your 
house  and  not  in  the  city.  We  get  the  Republi- 
can here,  and  in  the  reading-room  of  the  Cur- 
saal  are  some  New  York  papers ;  but  of  course 
there  is  nothing  definite.  My  mood,  which  is  in 
a  delightful  re))ose  in  this  cool  climate,  has  been 
seriously  disturbed  for  some  days  by  anxiety. 
To  be  sure,  it  is  not  going  to  be  in  any  respect 
better  if  I  were  to  return  to  St.  Louis;  still  I 
cannot  help  thinking  of  the  absent.  Also  our 
little  St.  Louis  colony  here  is  in  no  small  degree 
troubled  by  your  burning  Western  prairies. 
Something  always  happens  while  I  am  out  of 
the  city  during  the  summer;  last  year  my 
journey  was  first  disturbed  by  the  bank  crisis 
and  finally  interrupted  by  the  strike. 

You  will  see  that  I  have  anticipated  your 
advice  and  have  left  Rome  for  the  summer.  It 
was  well  that  I  did,  for  I  am  recuperating 
finely  and  doing  a  little  work  besides.  The 
atmosphere  i«  never  hot,  though  sometimes 
sultry ;  I  wear  my  winter  clothes  without  discom- 
fort. Then  the  environs  of  the  city  are  certainly 
very  delightful ;  the  rolling  country  and  the 
beechwoods  remind  me  not  a  little  of  my  native 
Ohio.  Nature  here  and  nature  in  America  are 
very  different;  the  hand  of  man  coaxing  and 
stroking  her  is  seen  everywhere  in  this  land, 
which  fact  has  its  good  and  beautiful  side;   but 


A  TOUR  I.y  EUROPE.  289 

she  never  shows  the  wild  untamed  freedom  whi(!h 
is  her  trait  in  America.  The  attitude  of  the 
people  toward  Nature  is  also  different;  the  Ger- 
man bubbles  over  with  sentimentality,  while  the 
American  looks  u[<on  her  gigantic  power  with 
something  of  a  hostile  feeling.  For  Nature, 
especially  the  forest,  is  yet  to  be  subjugated  in 
America,  while  here  she  is  a  plaything  in  the 
hands  of  man.  The  company  usually  votes  me 
to  be  without  a  love  of  Nature  because  I  don't 
overflow  at  the  prospect  of  a  little  piece  of  woods 
which  cannot  for  a  moment  bear  comparison  with 
the  American  primeval  forest.  A  really  big  tree 
is  not  to  be  seen,  a  western  woodchopper  would 
scorn  the  whole  country  for  its  petty  saplings. 
So  I  give  you  a  little  account  of  our  discussions 
in  our  daily  rambles  in  the  vicinity  of  Wies- 
baden—  for  it  is  our  custom  to  take  alon^  stroll 
every  evening.  I  must  confess  that  here  Nature 
seems  rather  tame  and  one  sisfhs  for  a  little  more 
wild  vigor.  Human  Nature  has  somewhat  of 
the  same  character,  but  I  do  not  want  to  begin 
that  subject  now. 

I  am  spending  a  few  weeks  with  friends  whom 
I  knew  in  St.  Louis.  They  intend  to  return  to 
America  in  September.  Already  they  are  pack- 
ing and  making  other  preparations,  and  soon 
we  shall  all  be  scattered  to  the  four  winds. 
I  shall  give  you  a  short  outline  of  my  plan  for 
the  future,  subject  of  course  to  changes  accord- 

19 


290  THE  QEEMAN  LOUP. 

ing    to    the    circamstances.     First    a     trip    to 
Cologne   on  a  steamer;   this  will  show  me  what 
most    people    say   is  the  most  beautiful  part  of 
the   Rhine,   as    well    as   give  me  a  sight  of  the 
most  famous  of  all  cathedrals,  that  of  Cologne. 
Eeturn  to  Wiesbaden  till  my  friends  take  their 
departure,  when   I  shall  go  to  Weimar  to  get  a 
little   sniff   of  the  air  of  old  Goethe.     Then  to 
Leipzig  and  Berlin,  where  my  plan  grows  some- 
what indefinite;   but  I  shall  probably  pass  from 
thence  to  Vienna  and  re-enter  Italy  by  way  of 
Venice  if  I  do  not  conclude  to  take  the  Austrian 
steamship  at  Trieste  for  Greece.     A  visit  to  the 
latter  country  is  now  my  main  object;   it  would 
cost  me  a  good  deal  of  regret  to  give  up  that  part 
of  the  programme.     Another  stay  at  Rome  with 
Naples  included,    and  possibly  Sicily,  belong  to 
the -next   season.     This  seems  a  good  deal  but 
with  ordinary  luck  I  shall  be  able  to  accomplish 
it  in  a  few  months  —  but  the  dates  I  can  not  give. 
Germany  has  just   passed  through    a  general 
election  for  members  of  the  Reichstag,  but  I  gave 
very  little  attention  to  the  matter.     Politics  I  let 
alone  with  all  my  might,  for  two  reasons :   the 
whole  political  fabric    of  the  German  Empire  is 
not  congenial  to  me,  and  in  the   second  place  it 
is  none  of  my  business.  Nor  is  it  without  danger 
to  express  one's  opinion  with  freedom.    Besides, 
it  is  an  act  of  very  questionable  decency  to  abuse 
the  nation  where  you  are  received  and  protected 


A  TOUE  IX  EUROPE.  291 

as  a  guest.  Somehow  or  other  I  cannot  feel 
attached  to  the  old  Fatherhindin  its  present  condi- 
tion, so  many  ugly, and  what  is  wopse,  weak  traits 
have  developed  themselves  amid.all  its  splendor. 
For  instance,  the  recent  trials  in  which  the  in- 
former flourished  with  a  glory  unknown  in  mod- 
ern Europe,  furnish  the  most  disagreeable  spec- 
tacle of  the  kind  since  the  foulest  days  of 
the  Roman  Empire.  Who  could  have  imagined 
that  the  old  system  of  delation  would  again 
shoot  up  among  "  the  most  enlightened  people 
on  earth?"  Friend  betrays  friend;  the  poor 
laborer  for  a  doubtful  innuendo  is  dragged  from 
his  family  to  pass  years  in  prison ;  no  protection 
is  to  be  found  in  the  courts ;  in  fact,  I  should 
say  that  the  German  Judiciary  seems  the  most 
subservient  implement  of  civil  persecution  to  be 
found  at  this  moment  on  the  civilized  globe.  O 
for  an  Anglo-Saxon  jury  and  an  Anglo-Saxon 
Judge  to  put  a  curb  upon  arbitrary  power !  But 
I  have  violated  my  own  principle  in  writing  so 
warmly,  so  I  shall  shut  my  eyes  and  take  a 
walk.  I  do  not  like  national  detraction,  I  have 
kept  myself  free  from  it  so  far;  so  let  me  stop 
here  with  the  statement  that  I  still  believe  in 
Germany's  recovery  from  her  present  obscura- 
tion. 


292  THE  GERMAN  LOUP, 

Wiesbaden^  Aug.  3rd,  1878. 

Your  letter  has  at  last  been  received, coming  by 
way  of  Rome ;  I  suppose  that  I  did  not  inform 
you  of  my  contemplated  change  of  residence  for 
the    summer.       When  I  learned    that   you   had 
abandoned  your  intended  trip  to  Europe,  I   con- 
cluded that  you  could  hardly  pay  a  visit  to  Eome  ; 
so  I  packed  up  and  crawled   slowly  and  circuit- 
ously  toward  the  North.  Now  I  am,  as  you  see,  in 
Wiesbaden,  a  famous  watering  place,  always  full 
of  strangers;    in  fact  nobody  seems  to  live  here 
except  hotel-keepers.     But  I  have  friends  here, 
and  I  feel  more  at  home  than  at  any  time  since 
rny  arrival  in  Europe.     The  (Jursaal  is  well  sup- 
plied  with  newspapers,  a  few  being  American; 
every  afternoon  and  every  evening  there  is  music 
by    a   very    fine    orchestra.     The    people    stroll 
through  the  beautiful  park,  finely-dressed  ladies 
are  scattered  along  paths  or  are  sitting  under  the 
trees,  men  lounge  around  engaged  in  idle  gossip 
or  still  idler  dreams.     Nobody  has  anything  to 
do — no  business,  no  hurry,  no  struggle;  disport 
yourself  in  the  shade  or  in  the  sun  if  you  wish ; 
spend  a  goodly  time  in  eating  your  dinner  and  the 
rest  of    your  afternoon   in  digesting  it,  accom- 
panied by    music,  dreams,    and   looking  at  the 
beautiful  ladies  (not  very  beautiful,  I  should  say, 
the  most  of  them).     Man  has  become  a  ground 
hog,    and    woman    is    changed     to    a  butterfly. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  293 

Every  day  I  go  with  my  friend  to  the  park,  we 
taken  seat  oiia  boiioli  whoa  I  drawfroiu  my  pocket 
a  book  of  poetry,  which  scxjii  hoists  both  of  us 
into  fairy  land.  Dinner  drags  us  down,  gently, 
pleasantly  however ;  then  the  afternoon  nap,  after 
which  comes  a  walk  into  the  suburbs. 

The  Khiucflows  but  a  short  distance  from  Wies- 
baden ;  I  have  already  paid  the  old  patriarch  sev- 
eral visits,  and  twice  have  flung  myself  into  his 
eml)races ;  may  I  not  say  that  he  received  me 
coolly?  Sitting  alongside  of  his  current  in  a 
beer  garden,  si[)ping  the  amber-colored  drink  of 
Gambrinus,  you  will  see  the  water-witches  rising 
out  of  the  stream — that  is,  if  you  drink  long 
enough;  indeed  Sigfrid  and  Crimhild  with  the 
Nibelungen  Hoard  will  begin  to  dance  throuofh 
your  brain  to  the  music  of  Wagner.  But  at 
present  I  am  not  on  good  terms  with  these 
Northern  Ghosts  ;  I  have  recently  been  too  much 
in  the  company  of  Classical  Spirits  who  still 
hover  over  Italy. 

As  regards  Art,  I  am  now  in  a  state  of  repose. 
After  seeing  so  much  in  so  short  a  time,  I  began 
to  suffer  from  nausea,  and  when  I  came  to  Wies- 
baden I  resolved  to  see  nothing  and  have  so  far 
succeeded.  Beautiful  visions  of  the  South  still 
float  before  me  at  odd  seasons,  but  just  now  they 
refuse  to  appear,  so  you  must  do  without  them 
in  this  letter.     Hence  I  have  no  artistic  report  to 


294  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

make  tit  present ;  I  am  in  a  condition  of  hiberna- 
tion, though  it  be  summer. 

I  have  heard  of  the  broiling  which  you  have 
received  in  St.  Louis — I  confess,  with  no  small 
anxiety ;  you  will  now  be  better  prepared  to 
appreciate  Dante's  Inferno,  if  that  is  any  conso- 
lation; nay  some  St.  Louis  poet  may  write  the 
new  Inferno. 

I  hear  nothing  from  the  young  lady  of  Chicago 
about  whom  you  inquire.  Why?  Can  you  tell  me 
anything?  Your  record  of  marriages  is  interesting 
— I  feel  much  encouraged,  there  is  still  some 
chance  for  me,  for 

There  swims  no  gander  so  gray  but  soon  or  late 
He  will  find  some   silly  young  goose  for  his 
mate. 

Wiesbaden,  August,  3rd,  1878. 

Think  of  it !  The  Frau  Stadtrath  made  a  little 
party,  to  which  I  was  invited  because  somebody 
told  her  that  I  had  written  a  book  on  Shakes- 
peare. I  was  also  informed  that  Herr  Prof. 
Friedrich  Bodenstedt  would  be  a  member  of 
the  same  party,  which  was  to  meet  in  a  su- 
burban beer-garden.  Everything  took  place 
without  a  hitch,  and  so  in  the  afternoon  I 
found  myself  sitting  opposite  to  the  most 
distinguished  man  whom  I  have  met  personally 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  295 

in  Europe — poet,  critic,  translator  from  many 
ton^jues. 

I  knew  a  little  of  some  of  Bodonsledt's  books. 
As  a  student  of  Shakespeare  I  had  looked 
throuofh  his  translation  into  German  of  Shakes- 
peare's  sonnets,  and  had  read  a  few  of  his  criti- 
cisms. But  the  chief  work  of  his  in  my  estima- 
tion was  Mirza  Schafi/,  which  had  become  in 
its  way  a  kind  of  household  book  in  my  family, 
and  whose  brief,  witty,  pithy  verses  were  familiar 
to  us  all.  After  being  introduced,  each  sat  down 
with  a  glass  of  wine  before  him;  I  raised  mine 
to  my  lips,  but  before  sipping  I  recited  a  refrain 
from  one  of  his  best  known  drinking-son»s: 

JSr  i,st  nicht  des  Weines  wertJi, 
Der  ihn  wie  Wasser  trinkt. 

At  once  the  old  poet  broke  loose  and  began  re- 
citing his  own  verses,  intermingling  now  and  then 
some  lines  in  English  from  Byron,  whom  he 
seems  to  know  well  (much  better  than  1).  His 
own  German  snatches  were  in  the  mood  and 
measure  of  Mirza  Schaffy.  He  claimed  that  they 
were  translations  from  a  Persian  poet  whom  he 
named ;  but  they  certainly  sounded  like  Boden- 
stedt.  At  any  rate  I  did  not  trouble  him  about 
his  disguise,  though  he  once  alluded  to  it  him- 
self. 

We  walked  home  together  and  he  continued 
his  recitations  interspersed  with  remarks,   often 


296  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

in  response  to  questions  of  mine.  We  reached 
his  door,  and  at  his  invitation  I  promised  to  pay 
him  a  visit  soon  at  his  rooms.  During  this  talk 
he  was  full  of  his  own  things,  I  did  not  inter- 
rupt him  with  any  of  my  lucubrations.  But  I 
confess  to  you  f*'ankly,  my  friend,  that  I  wanted 
to  try  on  him  one  or  two  of  my  epigrams,  a 
couple  of  which  I  sent  you  in  a  letter  not  long 
ago.  As  he  puts  great  stress  upon  versification, 
I  desired  to  hear  his  opinion  of  classic  meters  in 
modern  tongues,  especially  in  German  and 
English.  I  do  not  think  that  he  has  used  them, 
and  I  rather  imagine  that  he  does  not  favor  them. 
So  I  held  aloof  from  the  main  point  in  which  I 
was  interested.  He  is  occupied  with  putting  the 
Oriental  poetic  manner  into  German  ;  his  greatest 
success,  Mirza  Schaffy,  is  of  that  kind.  Well, 
the  Greek  and  the  Oriental  are  quite  diverse,  even 
antagonistic.  I  suppose  I  felt  something  of  this 
kind,  for  it  was  on  my  tongue's  end  several  times 
to  blurt  out  at  him  one  of  my  hexameters,  but  I 
always  backed    down  at  the  first  onset. 

In  fact  there  was  something  comic  in  the  situa- 
tion. The  old  poet  could  not  help  reciting  his 
rhymes  by  the  hour;  this  personal  vanity  the 
Muses  do  impart,  so  expect  a  downpour  when  you 
meet  a  person  whom  they  have  inspired  to  versify. 
Goethe  himself,  though  an  Olympian,  confesses 
to  the  same  weakness,  and  seemingly  never 
tried  to  get  over  it.     Of    course    I  was    charmed 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  297 

and  instructed  by  Boden.stedt.  Still  I  could 
not  help  lauj^hing  with  my  friend  at  the  comedy 
of  the  two  poets,  the  well-known  and  the 
unknown,  the  older  and  the  younger,  when 
I  came  home.  Each  was  bursting  with  his  own 
conceptions,  but  only  the  one  could  come  to 
utterance  ;  the  second  fellow,  while  being  burnt  by 
his  own  inner  fire,  was  scorched  at  the  same  time 
by  an  outer  one,  and  he  did  not  dare  shoot  back. 
The  first  poet  seemingly  never  suspected  the  ex- 
plosive powder-barrel  around  which  he  was 
playing  off  his  pyrotechnics  so  effulgently. 

You  nmst  not  think  that  I  did  not  appreciate 
him.  But  my  part  was  a  kind  of  fizzle.  Now  I 
intend  to  try  again,  for  I  shall  see  him  at  least 
once  more  and  perhaps  oftener.  There  are  tw« 
things  which  I  would  like  to  get  out  of  him  :  as 
he  is  quite  a  critic  and  has  worked  with  Shakes- 
peare a  good  deal,  I  would  gladly  find  out  what 
he  thinks  of  a  certain  kind  of  Shakesperian 
criticism  ;  and  as  he  is  certainly  a  j)oet  of  metrical 
skill  and  delicacy,  I  desire  to  hear  his  view  of 
the  old  elegiac  measure  so  much  employed  in 
German  by  Goethe,  Schiller,  Platen  and  others, 
and  in  English  hardly  touched  by  anybody  except 
one  unknown  —  you  must  guess  who  he  is. 


298  THE  GERMAN  LOUP 

Wiesbaden,  Aug.  4th,  1878. 

This  time  I  shall  write  jou  a  shorter  epistle 
than  usual,  for  I  have  nothing  to  write  about, 
and  I  am  too  indolent  to  rack  my  brain  for  any 
fancies.  I  have  the  health  of  an  ox,  never  miss 
a  meal,  and  devote  myself  pretty  much  to  doing 
nothing.  To  write  a  long  or  a  good  letter  under 
such  circumstances  would  be  a  serious  violation 
of  my  principle,  which  is  to  rest.  I  shall  be 
much  disappointed,  therefore,  if  I  should  happen 
to  fire  off  any  little  jest  or  other  cerebral  scin- 
tillation. This  town  is  not  a  town  of  citizens 
but  of  strangers,  who  are  met  with  everywhere. 
I  stroll  up  and  down  the  streets  and  through  the 
large  park,  trying  to  dream  what  I  shall  dream 
about;  very  frequently  a  vision  in  flesh  passes 
before  my  eye  leaving  its  glance  behind  to  keep 
me  company.  Digestion  is  excellent,  hence  my 
dreams  are  rainbow-colored,  except  when  I  read 
of  the  awful  heat  you  are  experiencing  in 
America;  then  the  image  of  Tartarus  with  dense 
black  clouds  of  smoke  intermingled  with  red 
flame-bursts  rises  up  before  my  imagination.  In 
your  next,  give  me  a  description  of  your  Inferno 
through  which  you  have  passed,  adding  a  Miltonic 
touch.  According  to  all  accounts,  it  must  have 
been  a  veritable  foretaste  —  yet  I  ought  not  to 
speak  lightly,  for  some  of  you  may  have  never 
got  through. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUBOPE.  29U 

First  of  all,  convey  my  profoundest  regards  to 
the  little  stranger  on  Walnut  Hills  who  has  just 
made  his  appearance  in  the  world,  doul)tless  with 
no  small  ado.  His  uncle  promises  him  many  a 
little  story  of  travel  and  adventure  when  he  gets 
bio"  enough  to  wear  his  first  pair  of  trousers.  To 
the  happy  parents  what  can  be  said  which  will  do 
justice  to  the  event?  But  the  hoary-headed 
grandfather  —  he  has  probably  dyed  his  hair  in 
honor  of  the  occasion  and  transformed  himself 
into  a  second  fresh-blown  youth. 

I  have  received  Fred  Allen's  letter  proposing  a 
trip  to  Greece  along  with  me.  It  is  not  improb- 
able that  we  shall  make  the  journey  together. 

It  looks  very  much  as  if  the  university  situation 
were  dubious.  I  hope  that  none  of  you  will  press 
my  name,  but  leave  it  to  the  board  to  give  me  a 
call  or  not,  as  they  choose.  A  scramble  for  the 
place  I  cannot  enter  into.  I  feel  certain  that  the 
board  either  know  or  can  find  out  all  that  thev 
desire  about  me,  so  that  they  can  easily  determine 
whether  they  want  such  a  man  as  I  am.  Eeally 
I  care  little  for  the  position. 

Mv  future  is  somewhat  uncertain,  but  I  think 
that  I  shall  stay  in  Europe  a  goodly  part  of  the 
next  twelve  months.  I  might  as  well  finish  the 
job  while  I  am  at  it,  for  this  may  be  the  last 
chance.  I  often  have  a  longing  for  home,  l)ut  I 
soon  a!n  able  to  sink  it  in  other  things.  I  hope 
that  you  will  come  out  of  the  hot  season  unim- 


300  TUE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

paired  in  health.  I  cannot  help  thinkinoj  that  it  is 
imprudent  for  you  to  stay  down  in  that  blazing 
breezeless  basin  of  a  city  during  the  summer. 


On  the  Rhine  Aug.  6th,  1878. 

I  am  going  to  begin  a  letter  to  all  of  you  now, 
just  while  I  am  floating  on  the  back  of  old  Father 
Rhine,  though  I  do  not  know  where  it  will  be 
finished  or  copied  out  of  this  uncertain  hand- 
writing. On  board  of  a  steamer,  gazing  at  the 
hills,  castles,  vineyards  along  the  banks  of  the 
stream ;  noting  the  great  variety  of  travelers  of 
whom  three-fourths  are  English  and  American ; 
chatting  with  chance  acquaintances — such  is  the 
occupation  of  the  trip.  Yes,  I  am  on  my  way  to 
see  the  Cologne  Cathedral,  hitherto  but  a  dream  ; 
that  edifice  now  comes  up  before  me  as  the  grand 
destination  of  my  present  voyage,  surrounded  by 
a  frame  work  of  very  indifinite  clouds,  I  confess. 

While  I  am  sitting  and  talking  with  a  ponder- 
ous Pennsylvania  Judge,  a  well  dressed  lady 
passes  before  me — it  is  a  face  which  I  have 
certainly  seen  before.  But  where  or  when?  I 
begin  to  go  backwards  in  memory  to  St.  Louis, 
to  Cincinnati,  to  the  war,  to  college;  I  can  not 
place  her  or  name  her.  Let  me  see  whether  or 
not  I  am  mistaken — so  I  leisurely  stroll  toward 
the  end  of  the  boat  where  she  is  sitting;  I  give 
her  a  good  stare  which  she  for  a  moment  returns : 


.  A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  301 

itis  clear  that  she  does  not  recognize  nie,  but  I  am 
only  more  certain  of  my  first  surmise.  I  take  my 
seat ;  still  further  down  into  the  dark  cells  of  mem- 
ory I  grope,  on  all  fours  as  it  were — now  I  have 
caught  the  fugitive,  dim,  insubstantial  shadow, 
and  hold  it  tight  in  my  grip.  Come  out  into 
light — she  was  an  acquaintance  of  my  boyhood 
in  the  little  town  of  Ohio  where  I  was  born  and 
passed  my  youth ;  her  name  darts  through  my 
head  and  I  at  once  go  up  and  address  her.  "You 
have  the  advantage  of  me."  "What,  have  you 
forgotten  me !  Weil  I  shall  let  you  think  a  little 
while  and  then  return."  Therewith  I  pass  to 
my  seat  a  second  time.  When  I  went  back  to 
her,  she  had  recalled  my  name,  not  from  any 
recollections  of  me  personally,  but  from  my 
family  resemblance.  Conversation  sprang  up,  I 
asked  after  her  husband  whom  I  knew — she  has 
been  for  some  years  a  widow.  Ah  indeed — ro- 
mance begins  to  look  out  the  eye  of  Father 
Rhine.  But  who  is  that  beautiful  young  lady — 
decidedly  the  most  beautiful  on  board  of  the 
vessel — that  is  in  her  company?  It  nmst  be  her 
daughter,  I  thought — though  the  mother  herself 
cannot  be  far  from  my  age.  What  an  excellent 
thing  is  eternal  youth  !  Once  I  was  young  with 
the  latter,  now  I  am  young  again  with  the 
former.  I  need  not  tell  you  the  rest — look  into 
that  novel  there  at  your  elbow.  The  Rhine  Is 
indeed  a    romantic    stream,    bringing    together 


302  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

those  separated  by  thousands  of  miles  of  space, 
and  by  a  quarter  of  a  century  of  time — can 
any  romance  do  more?  But  you  must  not 
think  I  shall  return  to  St.  Louis  mated,  I  was 
just  spinninoj  a  little  fact  into  fancy. 

Yet  the  Rhine  is  in  other  regards  somewhat 
disappointing.  Perhaps  the  stranger  expects 
too  nmch ;  for  the  German  it  nmst  always  be 
a  center  of  blessed  memories.  His  people  have 
fought  for  it,  trying  always  to  keep  it  in  their 
bosom  as  the  very  river  of  their  heart's  blood. 
But  above  all,  it  is  the  stream  of  Northern 
Romance  reaching  back  to  the  grey  ages  of 
fable;  it  flows  through  the  old  Mythology, 
through  the  legends  of  the  great  migrations, 
through  the  tales  of  Medieval  Chivalry.  Modern 
German  Poetry  is  largely  watered  by  it,  has 
indeed  become  a  little  too  watery  in  some  cases 
by  excessive  draughts  from  this  source.  The 
main  charm  must  lie  in  associations  which  are 
somewhat  remote  from  the  stranger,  however 
honestly  he  may  try  to  work  into  them. 

Also  I  must  confess  that  my  mood  is  not 
wholly  favorable,  for  Italy  has  filled  me  with 
classical  forms  which  here  find  their  emphatic 
contradiction.  I  can  not  sympathize  with  these 
sombre  shapes  of  towns  and  castles,  of  fierce 
chaotic  struggle,  whilst  I  am  filled  to  overflow- 
ing with  the  light,  cheerful  visions  of  the 
South.       I  suppose  that  I  shall    change  in  the 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  "'OS 

course  of  time,  but  at  present  the  Romantic  is 
quite  extinguished  by  the  Classical.     This  is  a 
one-sidedness    I     know ;    but    man  can  only  bo 
what  he  is.     A  shudder  runs  through  me  when 
I  look  upon  some  of  these  dark  edifices,  and  I 
really  long  to  get  back  into  the    sunlight.      So 
I  feel  satisfied    that    the    water-sprites  of    the 
Rhine  will  not  appear  to  me  during  this  visit  at 
least;    the  Nixes  will  not  show  themselves  in  the 
company  of    the  Graces.     For    something    like 
the    old  Grecian  grace    and    instinct    of    form 
is  what    I    always    am  seeking  after  now;   and 
these  qualities  do  not  belong  to  this  region  of 
the  world.     In  this  sense  the  Rhine  is  still  what 
Propertius,  the  old  Roman  poet,  called  it  nearly 
two  thousand  years  ago — "a  barbarous  stream." 
But  there  is  still  another  association  belonging 
to  the  Rhine  which  must  not  be  passed  over  — 
the  wine.     The  vineyards  are  lying  so  calmly  on 
the  banks  everywhere  in  the  sun,  that  one  can 
hardly  imagine  that  they  conceal  so  much  fire 
and  rage  in  their  bosoms.     For  the  wine-drinker 
the  memory  of  the  Rhine  is  a  Paradise,  it  is  con- 
nected with  all  the  happiest  hours    of  his  life. 
All  these    names  which  he  hears  while  passing 
down  the  stream  —  as  Johannisberg,  Assmanns- 
hauser,  Riidesheim — recall  to  his  mind  many  a 
glorious  jamboree.     The  Rhine  thus  becomes  a 
source  of  inspiration  from  which  I  am  partitdly  at 
least  excluded.     On  the  vessel  I  looked  through  a 


304  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

bottle  of  thegoldeu  Rhenish,  hoping  to  see  Sigfrid 
with  his  delectable  Chrimhild,  or  to  heur  the 
Vtdkvrs  flving  to  the  music  of  Wagner ;  but  the 
romance  will  not  come  out,  let  me  do  my  best;  I 
shill  have  to  wait  ten  years  and  then  return  to 
the  Rhine  with  increased  youth,  for  in  ten  years 
more  I  hope  to  be  much  younger  and  more  im- 
pressionable. 

Along  the  river  and  on  the  tops  of  hills  are 
situated  the  castles,  now  in  decay  or  temporarily 
restored  for  the  benefit  of  the  tourist.  Their 
age  has  departed ;  in  spite  of  modern  sentimen- 
tality, the  stones  will  insist  upon  falling  asunder 
and  speaking  in  mournful  voice  :  Alas,  I  have  no 
business  here.  Knight  and  ladv,  minstrel  and 
clown,  hawk  and  hound  have  fled;  their  poetical 
life  has  vanished  into  the  dreamland  of  the  novel. 
But  the  old  barons  were  robbers,  and  the  castle 
was  a  den  of  thieves ;  their  struggle  was  to  pos- 
sess this  navigable  stream  and  to  lay  a  toll  on 
Industry ;  hence  so  many  castles.  But  Industry 
has  completely  conquered  ;  she  it  was  who  rushed 
up  these  summits  and  dismantled  the  fastnesses. 
Look,  here  she  comes  in  her  very  latest  new 
dress  of  iron,  puffing  and  blowing  up  the  valley. 
A  railroad  now  is  seen  on  each  side  of  the 
Rhine,  running  along  in  the  very  shadow  of  the 
old  falling  walls  of  the  baronial  castle.  Shall  I 
help  you  guess  this  riddle?     That  castle  on  the 


A  rOUli  /.V  EURO  HE.  305 

Ehine  is  o\(\  Europe  going  to  pieces  under  the 
hanuner  of  Industry. 

The  croakers  say  that  Art,  Poetry,  Ideal  Life 
are  also  going  to  pieces  iu  the  same  process  of 
disintegration.  I  do  not  believe  it.  Look  at  the 
people  on  this  boat  —  at  least  one-half  of  theni 
are  pilgriming  to  Cologne  with  one  main  purpose  : 
to  see  the  Cathedral.  The  dozen  persons  whom 
I  have  spoken  to  say  so  at  least.  There  never 
was  so  much  study  and  appreciation  of  Art, 
though  the  highest  originality  does  indeed  seem 
just  now  to  be  somewhat  wanting.  It  is  true 
that  there  is  much  affectation  in  this  love  of  Art, 
but  affectation  is  the  mere  excrescence  of  some- 
thing very  substantial — affectation  is  the  homage 
which  shallowness  pays  to  worth.  It  would 
astonish  you  to  see  the  number  of  Americans 
engaged  in  this  pilgrimage — hard-headed  prac- 
ticality actually  going  to  the  shrine  of  the  Muses 
and  seeming  to  worship  there,  oftenest  only 
seeming,  I  am  afraid. 

Aug.  9th.  Returned  to  Wiesbaden  and  thus 
have  seen  the  Rhine  twice.  I  feel  just  now  par- 
ticularly proud  of  my  country-women,  as  the 
most  beautiful  lady  on  board  both  in  going  and 
returniug  was  an  American.  She  was  brought 
into  direct  competition  with  her  English  sister 
and  carried  off  the  palm  with  ease.  Do  you  know 
that  tlie  American  ladies  are  also  the  best 
dressers  iu  the  world,   as  they   appear  in  public 

20 


306  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

places^  The  Parisian  may  surpass  them  in  the 
drawius-room  or  ball-room ;  in  these  situations  I 
have  no  opportunity  for  comparison ;  but  on  the 
street,  in  the  galleries,  at  the  theater,  the  Ameri- 
can will  always  win  the  eye  for  the  grace  of  her 
form  and  the  taste  of  her  costume.  Subtract  a 
little  for  my  national  bias,  and  there  will  still 
remain  enough  for  her  glorv.  But  the  fact  is 
acknowledged  here  in  Wiesbaden  where  there  are 
so  many  foreigners. 

You  must  not  think  the  Rhine  to  be  a  clear 
stream  though  it  is  not  quite  as  muddy  as  our 
Mississippi.  Nor  must  you  imagine  its  banks  to 
be  lined  with  beautiful  modern  residences,  like 
the  Hudson.  All  the  buildings  are  old  or  have 
that  appearance,  of  course  with  some  exceptions  ; 
everything  looks  mossy,,  medieval,  Gothic. 
Lorelei  is  a  steep  rock  with  layers  twisted  and 
broken  and  slanting  in  every  direction,  giving  to 
it  a  face  fantastic  as  its  legend.  But  the  most 
characteristic  of  these  Rhenish  summits  isDrach- 
enfels;  here  Nature  becomes  Gothic  in  the 
wildest  fashion.  The  hill  itself  is  a  delirium,  a 
drunken  Titan  frozen  into  stone  in  the  very 
heiiiht  of  his  contortions.  That  old  Teutonic 
imagination  could  draw  from  these  tortuous  lines 
many  of  its  fantastic  pictures.  But  the  final 
spasm  belonged  to  the  ancient  grim  baron  who 
erected  a  castle  on  this  summit  —  a  fancy  worthy 
of    Cerberus,     the  dark,    iiifern;il    three-headed 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  307 

watch-dog.  There  the  wall  stands,  right  in  a 
line  with  the  steep  precipice  sinking  downwards; 
as  I  look  at  it  against  the  clear  sky,  it  seems  to 
move  in  frantic  convulsion,  and  from  being  pros- 
trate to  rise  up  toward  heaven. 

On  the  whole  I  have  not  been  in  the  true  mood 
to  make  the  tour  of  the  Rhine  a  success;  the 
fault  is  my  own.  You  must  be  sympathetic, 
otherwise  the  most  beautiful  objects  may  only 
excite  aversion.  Wait  for  your  mood  in  prayer- 
ful silence;  most  detestal)le  is  the  snarling  trav- 
eler, snarling,  snarling,  eternally  snarling  at 
great  things  which  have  been  the  admiration  of 
ages.  But  I  must  stop,  else  I  shall  get  into  a 
snarl  myself.  You  must  love  old  Father  Rhine, 
descend  into  his  waters,  hug  him,  kiss  him,  hold 
him  tight  till  like  Protens,  he  will  reveal  his  own 
true  shape.  But  the  Greek  maiden  has  my  heart 
now,  and  I  cannot  resist  her  eyes  or  quiet  her 
jealousy. 

I  was  highly  elated  by  your  compliments  of 
my  last  letter.  I  resolved  to  make  this  a  good 
one  too,  but  something  has  blighted  my  exertion  ; 
perhaps  it  is  just  this  exertion  which  has  blighted 
exertion.  Expect  some  leaves  and  flowers  in  a 
few  days.  I  hope  you  enjoyed  your  New  York 
visit.  I  shall  gratify  your  curiosity — I  hear 
nothing  from  the  young  lady  you  mention;  now 
gratify  my  curiosity  l)y  telling  nie  something 
about  her.     I  have  had  a  splendid  time  here  at 


808  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

Wiesbaden,  during  the  hot  weeks,  with  my 
friends.  I  dare  not  tell  you  what  I  have  been 
writing,  you  would  laugh  at  me. 

I  assure  you  I  feel  very  grateful  for  your 
letters;  they  chase  away  the  devils  both  blue 
and  black,  who  sometimes  shake  their  wings 
over  my  head  and  even  give  me  a  flapinthe  face- 
The  next  letter  you  may  address  to  me  at  Kome 
whither  I  shall  now  soon  return. 


Wiesbaden,  Aug.  12th,  187 8, 

I  have  now  beheld  the  reality  of  the  Cologne 
Cathedral,  whose  large  picture  you  have  seen 
suspended  in  my  home,  and  which  we  have  often 
scanned  together.  But  somehow  or  other  I  can- 
not bring  myself  into  the  mood  to  describe  it  to 
you.  I  hung  around  it  for  the  better  part  of  two 
days,  inspecting  it  inside  and  outside  with  duti- 
ful industry,  and  jotting  down  many  notes.  But 
I  shall  have  to  confess  to  you  that  my  knowledge 
of  it  will  not  get  fusible.  I  seem  not  to  have  the 
white  heat  of  conception  to  make  its  stoney 
icicles  fluid  to  the  idea,  and  without  that  there 
is  little  use  of  writing.  The  mere  facts  about  it 
you  can  get  better  from  the  Encyclopedia.  The 
Gothic  style  had  become  fairly  familiar  to 
me  not  only  from  distant  studies  in  St.  Louis, 
but  from  the  actual  autopsy  of  Westminster 
Abbey  at  London,  and  of  Notre  Dame  at  Paris. 
Thus  the  novelty  was  not  that  of  the  first  sur- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  309 

prise.  I  shall  have  to  say  that  the  Gothic  style, 
wancleriniT  from  its  Northern  home  to  Italv,  im- 
pressed  me  more  deeply  at  Orvieto  and  at 
Assisi,  in  both  of  which,  however,  the  artistic 
accompaniments  are  very  different.  How  could  I 
help  remembering  the  Painting  and  Sculpture  of 
the  South,  for  which  these  Gothic  forms  were 
hardly  more  than  a  frame-work  and  receptacle! 
At  Cologne  I  went  also  to  see  some  old  German 
pictures  which  at  once  pr»duccd  such  a  war  in 
me  upon  Eaphael  and  Fra  Angelico,  that  I  took 
to  my  heels.  In  fact  the  Gothic  becomes  Gol- 
sothic  in  that  Coloijue  religious  edifice  where  are 
stored  long  rows  of  skulls,  huge  piles  of  vertebra, 
bushels  of  teeth  and  not  a  false  one  in  the  lot — 
the  bones  of  11,000  virgins,  ray  guide  book  says. 
Some  of  these  osseous  relics  were  arranged  in 
the  form  of  an  arch  under  which  a  priest  was 
saj'ing  mass.  Pious  faces  were  there,  but  I  also 
overheard  the  scoffer  Mephistopheles,  who 
stood  not  far  from  me  and  to  whom  the  sight 
furnished  a  delicious  morsel. 

Cologne  so  far  away  in  the  North  drove  me 
into  a  reactionary  spell,  in  which  I  had  a  longing 
almost  painful  for  the  South.  On  the  boat 
homewards  I  looked  at  the  rolling  Rhine  with  its 
ripples,  and  became  myself  billowy  inwardly, 
with  many  a  splash  of  emotion,  echoing 

N^ur  loer  die  iStJinsudit  kennt 
Weiss  was  ich  hide. 


310  THE  QEBMAN  LOVP. 

Landing  at  Biebrich,  I  hurried  across  the  coun- 
try to  Wiesbaden,  and  burst  into  my  room. 
There  I  snatched  up  my  photographs  of  the  sunny 
shapes  of  Italy,  which  soon  put  to  flight  the 
Teutonic  spooks  pursuing  me  from  Cologne. 
And  I  shall  tell  you  something  else  which  I  did. 
I  took  out  of  its  little  corner  a  manuscript  from 
which  I  read  for  consolation : 

All  the  Muses  are  dancing    a  measure  around 
Hippocrene, 
Whose  clear  waters  return  ever  their  shapes 
to  the  eye ; 
All  the  fair  forms  are  divinely  set  free  from 
the  prison  of  garments. 
With  a  light  veil  round  the  loins,  gently  they 
sway  to  the  wind. 

And  so  the  manuscript  runs  on,  recalling  for  me 
at  least  a  serene  transparent  world  with  fair 
divinities  appearing  to  and  commingling  with 
mortals. 

Now  before    me   the  world  rises  up  as  when 
ruled  from  Olympus, 
And  to  the  beautiful  halls  each  happy  deity 
goes ; 
All   of  the    Gods  are  marching  along  in    the 
fragrance  of  movement 
While  the  Goddesses'  forms  echo  the  nmsic 
of  folds. 


A  TO Uli  IX  EUROPE.  311 

This  will  hint  to  you  the  deepest  veia  of  what 
I  have  beea  thinking,  doing,  and  feeling  these 
unruffled  days.  It  is  an  intense  one-sided  bent 
which  has  to  work  itself  out  to  fulfillment,  what- 
ever that  may  be. 

Autumnal  days  begia  to  intercalate  themselves 
already  in  the  weather  of  this  latitude.  Little 
whirlwinds  catch  up  the  scattered  leaves  and 
spin  them  into  brief  eddies  before  me  through  the 
streets  —  a  sign  that  this  Wiesbaden  season  is 
drawing  to  a  close. 


Wiesbaden,  Aug.  15th,  1878. 

I  did  not  fail  to  respond  to  Bodenstedt's  in- 
vitation, and  to  visit  him  in  his  apartments, 
where  he  is  keeping  house  and  doing  some  lit- 
erary work.  As  I  took  what  he  called  a  frugal 
meal  with  him,  I  saw  his  wife  at  home.  He 
showed  me  some  quartos  of  the  old  Elizabethan 
dramatists  gathered  during  a  residence  in  Eng- 
land. A  love-poem  written  by  himself  in  Eng- 
lish he  read  to  me  —  T  rather  thought  he  was 
proud  of  it.  Then  he  handed  me  a  German 
drama  of  his  own,  whose  theme  was  one  of  the 
Russian  emperors.  Said  he  with  a  sorrowful 
look:  "this  drama  is  forbidden  in  the  German 
Empire."  '♦  Then  literature  has  its  censorship 
among  you  still,"  I  replied.  "Yes;  all  these 
royal  families  are  connected,  you  know."     I  had 


312  THE  GEE  MA  N  LO  UP. 

before  noticed  his  depressed  s[)irits ;  I  tried  to 
turn  tlie  talk  to  his  books  luid  asked  something 
about  his  work  on  the  Elizabethan  dramatists. 
His  answer  was  that  it  did  not  sell.  Bodenstedt 
was  not  to-day  in  his  Mirza  Schaffy  mood. 
Finally  some  statement  of  his  implied  the  dark 
political  situation  of  the  country.  I  remarked: 
"  Your  forecast  of  the  future  of  united  Germany 
is  not  bright,  then."  "  Very  dark,"  he  said 
with  a  look  out  of  his  eyes  which  betokened  not 
only  sorrow  but  anguish.  It  was  for  a  moment 
the  saddest  face  I  have  seen  in  Europe,  and  in- 
dicated how  the  best  spirits  of  the  land  are 
weighed  down  with  the  political  difficulties  of 
the  time.  Already  at  Munich  I  had  run  into 
the  German  cloud;  the  unity  of  the  Empire  was 
bringing  its  reaction  and  questionings.  A  people 
disappointed  and  disillusioned  was  the  Germany 
which  I  was  seeing;  that  was  what  could  be 
felt  and  heard  on  every  side.  Poor  Bodenstedt, 
sympathetic  soul,  had  a  severe  attack  of  the 
blues  that  day. 

I  could  understand  him  for  I  had  gone  through 
the  same  experience  in  regard  to  my  own  country 
after  our  civil  war.  What  a  time  it  had  in  get- 
ting back  to  order !  Who  did  not  often  despair 
of  its  restoration?  I  could  say  to  him  truthfully 
that  I  believed  the  cloud  would  pass  over  and 
that  all  would  turn  out  well.  After  even  a  vic- 
torious war  the  backstroke  must  come.       I  rose 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE.  313 

to  go,  but  we   both   agreed  to  take  a   walk  to- 
gether tln-ough  the  Park. 

When  iu  the  opco  air  I  asked  biiu  to  repeat 
some  verses  of  his  translation  from  the  Persian. 
This  he  did  with  increasing  zest,  and  gradually 
recovered  his  Mirza  Schaffy  mood,  which  I  be- 
lieve to  be  native  to  him.  Everything  was  again 
iu  full  flow,  and  I  thought  my  time  had  come. 
An  elegiac  couplet  of  my  own  had  just  started 
to  throbbing  on  my  tongue,  when  this  wayward 
organ  switched  off  into  a  question  as  a  kind  of 
feeler:  "  Ilerr  Professor,  what  do  you  think 
of  Goethe's  Roman  Elegies?  "  He  at  once  di- 
lated upon  their  poetic  merit,  and  showed  his 
bent  by  citiug  what  was  for  him  the  favorite 
distich  in  the  whole  collection : 

Uine  Welt  zwar  hist  du,  0  Horn,  dock  ohne  die 

Liehe 
Ware  die  Welt  nicht  die  Welt,  ware  denn  Rom 
auch  7iicht  Rom. 

Of  course  I  was  delighted,  for  these  very 
lines  I  had  endeavored  to  translate  and  to  inter- 
weave into  an  English  epigram  after  the  old 
Greek  pattern.  But  the  poet  of  Mirza  Schaffy 
at  once  shot  off  in  a  new  direction,  giving  rein 
to  his  anti-classical  tendency:  "  Yet  the  meter 
is  bad,  there  is  a  continual  violence  done  to  the 
laws  of  prosody."  This  was  enough,  my  lines 
which  were  nushiuir  for  utterance  on  mv  tongue's 


314  THE  G  Eli  MAN  LOUP. 

tip  suddenly  wheeled  about  and  then  sank  down 
hopeless  to  the  very  bottom  of  my  conscious- 
ness, whence  they  could  not  be  coaxed  to  rise 
again. 

So  I  did  not  have  the  courage  to  try  even  a 
single  elegiac  distich  on  Bodenstedt,  though  I 
was  dying  to  do  it.  Of  course  I  thought  him 
rather  limited  in  his  poetic  world-view,  and 
cramped  by  his  notions  of  versification.  He  had 
never  gotten  into  the  old  classical  world  and 
transformed  its  supreme  expression,  which  is  its 
poetry,  into  his  own  modern  language  and  life. 
Somehow  I  could  not  think  that  he  fully  appre- 
ciated the  work  of  his  greatest  countryman, 
Goethe,  in  bringing  Hellas  bodily  to  Teutonia, 
and  in  transfiguring  German  speech  with  the 
Greek  spirit.  Unfortunately  we  have  never  had 
in  Anghj-Saxondom  a  Goethe  to  make  En- 
glish move  to  Greek  rhythm  and  break  up 
our  desperately  monotonous  Iambic  clog-dance. 
This  is  the  chief  reason  for  the  decay  of  Greek 
studies,  which  the  classicists  are  so  loudly  lament- 
ing. But  it  is  their  own  fault.  The  Univer- 
sity professor  is  usually  the  most  vociferous 
declaimer  against  the  English  hexameter  and 
pentameter.  The  result  is  that  the  classical  form 
which  is  the  great  charm,  remains  alien  to  Anglo- 
Saxon  life  and  speech,  both  in  England  and 
America.  Hence  the  practical  English-speaking 
man  flings  it  away  with  good  reason.     The  Ilellen- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  315 

ists  themselves  have  dug  the  chasm  which  they  are 
falling  into,  generally  with  great  outcry  against 
somebody  else,  for  instance  the  scientist,  as  the 
mischief-maker.  Who  can  transfuse  that  beau- 
tiful Greek  world  into  our  modern  life,  preserv- 
ing its  Greek  form  of  beauty?  Without  this, its 
better  half  is  quite  lost.  Goethe  chiefly  has  done 
the  task  for  German  and  Germany,  and  in  this 
respect,  as  well  as  in  others,  claims  our  study. 
Not  Voss,  as  some  say;  for  Voss  is  in  his  depths 
a  formalist;  he  has  many  excellences,  but  not 
the  capital  one,  while  Goethe  has  many  faults, 
but  in  spite  of  them  the  capital  excellence.  His 
classical  measures  are  alive,  run  of  themselves, 
and  even  limp  and  break  to  pieces  with  an  over- 
flowing poetic  spontaneity. 

Dear  me  I  I  am  writing  a  kind  of  a  treatise  in 
this  letter.  Well,  the  subject  is  most  interesting 
to  me,  and  so  it  will  splash  out  of  me  into  ink. 
Indeed  it  touches  the  deepest  hope  of  my  whole 
European  trip.  Is  it  possible  for  me  to  appro- 
priate this  classic  life  and  to  make  it  talk,  for  me 
at  least,  in  my  own  native  tongue?  I  have  tried 
Bodenstedt,  he  certainly  has  had  no  such  aim, 
and  does  not  undeFstand  it  even  in  Goethe,  who 
had  it  supremely. 

But  I  must  wind  up  with  the  conclusion  of  our 
promenade.  Rather  mechanically  I  at  any  rate 
walked  on,  with  some  indifferent  chat,  for  I  had 
reached  the  end  of  my  string,  and  I  imagine  that 


316  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

he  felt  the  gap.  Suddenly  we  met  a  fine  lady 
whom  he  knew.  He  stopped  and  repeated  to 
her  one  of  his  bright,  witty  quatrains,  to  which 
she  responded  by  au  exceedingly  hearty,  but 
well-bred  laugh,  calling  for  another.  This  was 
my  opportunity,  and  I  excused  myself.  That 
was  the  last  I  saw  of  Bodenstedt,  and  shall  not 
see  him  again,  I  suppose,  as  I  leave  Wiesbaden  in 
a  few  days. —  [^Editors  Note.  Some  years  after- 
wards at  St.  Louis  I  saw  Bodenstedt  once  more, 
and  spoke  with  him  very  briefly  at  the  Germania 
Club,  where  there  was  a  great  crush  to  meet 
him.  He  was  making  the  tour  of  America, 
which,  I  told  him  at  Wiesbaden,  he  ought  to 
visit,  as  he  would  find  many  friends,  and  would, 
I  thought,  make  some  money  by  lecturing.  He 
replied  that  such  a  tour  had  often  been  suggested 
to  him,  but  his  excuse  was  that  he  had  *'  no 
organ"  for  speaking  in  large  public  halls.] 


Wiesbaden,  Atig.  21st,  1878. 

To-morrow  is  the  day  set  for  departure  from 
Wiesbaden,  where  I  have  passed  six  very  pleas- 
ant weeks,  delightfully  restful  and  recuperative, 
with  my  friends.  At  the  same  time  I  have  been 
doing  a  little  speck  of  work  in  the  line  of  least 
resistance.  Aa  I  have  had  a  room  down  town 
to  myself,  and  many  hours  of  leisure,  I  let  my 
present  bent  have  free  rein,  in  order  to  find  out 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  317 

what  it  really  was  and  what  it  wanted  to  say.  If 
I  were  with  you  I  would  let  you  guess  which  one 
of  the  nunieious  interests  awakened  in  me  by 
Europe  rose  to  the  surface,  and  persisted  in  as- 
serting itself  through  all  my  quiet  days  at  Wies- 
baden. From  what  I  already  wrote  you  in  a 
couple  of  later  letters  at  Rome,  you  might  be 
able  to  divine  the  deepest  and  strongest  current 
in  me  was  the  poetic  one,  seeking  to  utter  in  clas- 
sical measure  the  antique  world-view  with  its 
upper  and  lower  reahns  of  Gods  and  Men,  in 
their  peculiar  inter-action,  of  which  we  catch 
the  earliest  and  perhaps  best  glimpse  in  Homer. 
All  ancient  art,  especially  the  statue,  is  in  its 
creative  i)urpose  a  means  of  bringing  the  Olympi- 
ans down  to  the  Terrestrials,  of  making  the  di- 
vine  appear  in  form  to  the  human.  The  soul 
longs  at  some  tiuie  to  recover  that  part  of  its 
spiritual  inheritance  which  actually  embodied 
God  in  adequate  shape,  and  thus  made  manifest 
on  our  earth  the  Beautiful.  Thereof  the  grand 
epiphany  was  the  Greek  world,  which  was 
through  and  through  artistic,  creatively  so,  and 
could  not  be  anvthing  else.  Zeus  the  Highest 
appeared,  and  api)eared  worthily,  from  the  hand 
of  the  artist  Phidias,  whose  character,  therefore, 
was  mediatorial,  mediating  the  Greek  man  with 
the  Greek  God  through  his  art. 

Now  can  I  realize  and   make  live  within    me 
this    conception  of    aucient   art    with  its  corre- 


318  THE  GEEMAN  LOUr. 

spondiug  world?  Such  I  believe  to  be  the  main 
scops  aud  hope  of  this  European  journey,  which 
cannot  end  till  it  has  brought  me  to  the  fountain- 
.head  of  all  noble  antiquity  on  its  spiritual  side, 
namely  Hellas.  To  be  sure  the  modern  Greek 
from  all  accounts  is  not  the  ancient  one,  still  he 
speaks  the  Greek  tongue  and  lives  in  the  old  set- 
ting of  Nature,  which  certainly  had  its  part  in 
shaping  that  antique  art-world  along  with  its 
institutions. 

Such  is  the  purpose  which,  seething  previously 
rather  in  the  dark  and  at  random,  has  become 
settled  and  clarified  here  at  Wiesbaden.  This 
separation  and  stay  in  the  North  were  needed 
seemingly  to  drive  me  back  southward  with  re- 
newed resolution  and  enthusiasm.  Certainly  the 
design  of  getting  to  Greece  is  now  fixed,  limited 
of  course  by  human  contingencies.  Somewhat 
dreamlike  still  the  whole  scheme  remains. 
Originally  in  America  it  was  all  a  dream,  noth- 
ing but  a  dream,  and  a  tinge  of  that  character  it 
persists  in  retaining,  and  I  suppose,  will,  until  it 
harden  into  reality  on  th'e  soil   of  Greece  itself. 

The  result  is  that  I  have  been  making,  off  and 
on  as  time  would  allow,  some  studies  in  modern 
Greek  as  it  is  called.  The  structure  of  this  lan- 
guage is  quite  the  same  as  the  old  one,  and  words 
are  usually  just  the  same,  with  some  changes  and 
omissions  in  the  inflected  parts.  The  chief  diffi- 
culty for  me  is  to  learn  to  pronounce  it  by    the 


A  rOUR  IN  EUROPE.  319 

accents  and  not  by  qnuntity — the  latter  way  I  have 
to  unlearn,  and  that  is  harder  than  to  learn  at  first 
hand.  Davidson,  a  good  Greek  scholar,  had  the 
same  difficulty,  so  he  told  mo  at  Rome. 

And  I  wish  to  tell  you  another  little  secret  : 
I  have  succeeded  in  getting  a  poetic  form  for^my 
Roman  experiences.  I  mean  now  not  simply  the 
meter,  of  which  I  have  already  imparted  to  you 
some  specimens,  but  a  kind  of  poetic  organism, 
into  which  I  can  put  a  totality  of  life.  Many 
fragments  of  experience,  many  images  and  even 
expressions,  which  came  showering  down  sep- 
arately upon  me  at  Rome,  have  shown  a  ten- 
dency in  this  reposeful  spot  to  come  together 
and  to  coalesce  into  wholes,  which  are  no  longer 
short  ej)igrams  (with  which  I  first  started)  but 
completed  themes.  This  movement  of  radiant 
Roman  atoms  into  larger  living  shapes  has  tickled 
me  immensely,  and  has  probably  swollen  my 
vanity  so  that  you  will  have  to  prick  it  a  little 
when  I  get  back  to  prosaic,  unclassic  St.  Louis 
lying  smoky  and  careless  on  the  banks  of  her 
tu-rbid  Mississippi. 

Already  about  a  dozen  of  these  pieces  have 
marched  themselves  together  from  single  dis- 
tichs  or  quatrains  into  good-sized  battalions, 
which  begid  to  maneuver  as  one  body,  though  I 
am  still  drilli4ig  them  to  gFcater  harmony  and 
order.  Nothing  of  the  kind  I  ever  did  before  in 
my  life  or  thought  of  doing,  or  knew  of  anybody 


320  THE  GERMAN  LOUT. 

else  who  dared  such  tricks,  though  I  do  not  for 
a  moment  imagine  that  I  am  the  first  in  the 
business. 

To-morrow,  then,  I  shall  start  to  complete  my 
Teutonic  round  or  loup,  but  with  multitudinous 
classical  brain-cells  exploding  and  coruscating  in 
my  head. 

Weimar,  Aug.  24th,  1878. 

The  two  greatest  heroes  of  German  Spirit  tower 
massively  over  this  piece  of  Saxon  territory,  not 
far  apart  —  Luther  and  Goethe. 

Of  course  I  climbed  up  to  the  Wartburg,  with 
which  so  much  history  and  fable  are  connected. 
The  famous  Lutherian  blotch  of  ink  was  duly 
inspected  with  wonder,  and  indeed  with  faith,  if 
I  could  be  allowed  to  interpret  the  phenomenon 
out  of  my  own  experience.  For  I  have  fully 
persuaded  myself,  if  nobody  else,  that  I  have 
been  throwing  inkstands  at  the  devil  all  my  life; 
I  believe  that  in  a  small  way  I  am  doing  so  just 
now.  Indeed,  my  faith  goes  still  further;  I  be- 
lieve that  the  old  Father  of  Lies  through  his 
representative  has  repeatedly  thrown  an  inkstand 
at  me  and  bespattered  me  with  its  diabolic  fluid, 
not  doing  much  harm,  however. 

But  for  me  in  my  present  mood,  the  Teutonic 
hero  is  not  Sigfried,  not  Luther,  but  Goethe,  in 
whose  main  terrestrial  environment  I  am  now 
trying  to  construe  his  work,  or  some  small  part 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE  321 

of  it  perchance.  I  have  long  regarded  his  life 
as  a  greater  poem  than  any  or  all  of  his  poetical 
works,  which  are  indeed  only  fragments  of  it, 
and  require  to  be  put  together  into  a  grand  total- 
ity. This  will  be  very  different  from  what  we 
get  out  of  the  biography  written  by  Mr.  Lewes, 
who  makes  himself  altogether  too  much  his  own 
hero,  instead  of  Goethe.  Not  Faust  nor  Meister 
is  by  any  means  the  sum  of  Goethe,  but  at  most 
a  moment,  or  several  moments,  of  him ;  to  build 
this  sum  we  have  to  add  even  the  10,000  letters 
of  his  which,  an  editor  has  computed,  are  still 
in  existence,  i;nany  of  them  unpul)lished.  Then 
his  published  works  specially  must  be  6zo^ra/?Ae6Z, 
showing  the  many  stages  and  activities  trans- 
formed into  the  one  life. 

Two  days  I  have  spent  in  the  little  city  of 
Weimar,  long  enough  to  impress  upon  the  mind 
the  outward  scenic  setting  of  the  poet's  life.  The 
Gartenhaus  is  localized,  and  the  valley  of  the] 
little  Ilm  is  repeatedly  promenaded,  in  which  I  in 
my  present  mood  particularly  note  the  inscrip- 
tion upon  a  tablet  of  stone  to  the  nymphs  of  the 
trees  and  rocks,  written  in  my  favorite  classic 
measure  and  breathing  the  very  spirit  of  the 
Greek  epigram  (which  simply  means  an  inscrip- 
tion like  this).  Here  is  a  sample  of  a  true  trans- 
lation, not  merely  of  this  or  that  old  poem,  but 
of  the  Greek  world  itself  into  modern  speech 
and  life.     Let  it  be  a  creative  model.    Of  course 

21 


322  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

I  have  seen  the  Museum,  whose  gem  is  the 
Odysse}^  pictures  of  Preller,  painted  in  a  peculiar 
subtle  harmony  with  Goethe's  classicism.  And 
the  two  houses  of  the  two  poets  on  the  Public 
Square  with  the  double  statue  of  the  poetic 
Dioscuri  of  Germany,  are  diligently  looked  at 
with  varying  emotions.  But  Schiller  somehow  I 
cannot  commune  with  intimately  even  here  in 
Weimar,  where  he  is  on  every  side  in  evidence — 
my  limi.tation  again. 

The  one  great  presence  for  me  in  this  whole 
region  is,  accordingly,  the  most  universal  of  all 
our  modern  poets.  And  even  in  his  life  there 
are  portions  which  drop  into  the  background. 
That  which  sezies  hold  of  me  most  strongly  now 
is  his  classical  period  and  its  message.  He  also 
had  to  take  flight  to  Italy  for  self -redemption, 
and  to  bring  that  ancient  art- world  back  to  his 
countrymen  in  a  new  gospel.  They  were  indeed 
already  learned  in  Greek  and  Latin,  and  certainly 
very  industrious,  still  they  needed  regeneration. 
Mere  philology,  very  necessary  as  a  help,  cannot 
conduct  us  to  the  soul  of  the  masterpiece.  The 
erudite  professor  at  the  German  University 
Goethe  has  set  forth  in  Homunculus  (Second 
Part  of  Faust)  with  deep  significant  touches  of 
satiric  humor. 

Of  the  modern  German  Renascence  I  seem  to 
myself  to  have  felt  tue  heart-beat  here  at  Wei- 
mar.    This  is  the  Teutonic  element  of  culture 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  323 

which  appeals  to  me  most  strongly  at  present, 
and  Goethe  is  its  greatest  and  most  original  rep- 
resentative. Hence  his  Italian  Journey  becomes 
typical  for  the  Northerner  who  is  seeking  to  make 
himself  integral  by  finding  and  ajjpropriating 
from  the  South  what  he  lacks  of  a  wholeness  of 
human  development. 


Berlin,   Sept.   1st,   1878. 

The  capital  of  the  German  Empire  —  you  will 
be  asking  me,  I  know,  what  I  think  of  it.  Verily 
a  many-sided  phenomenon  it  is,  not  to  be 
grasped  in  a  half-dozen  days.  But  I  can  give  my 
first  impression,  gotten  after  a  long  meandering 
walk  on  the  first  day,  and  still  abiding  with  me 
after  many  a  turn  and  tour.  Berlin  more  than 
any  large  city  that  was  ever  built,  I  believe,  is 
the  product  of  reflective  intelligence,  I  mean  that 
self-determined  growth  is  hardly  felt  here; 
everything  seems  laid  out,  directed,  supervised 
from  above  according  to  some  category  of  the 
understanding.  I  might  call  it  the  abstract  city 
distinctively,  or  the  city  of  the  abstract  idea, 
which  is  here  always  beforehand,  and  may  be 
seen  materializing  itself  in  the  vast  area  of  new 
buildings  which  are  now  going  up  everywhere.  I 
came  upon  something  of  the  same  kind  in 
Munich,  under  whose  formative  art  —  architec- 
ture,  sculpture,  painting — always  r:ui   a    basic 


324  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

substrate  of  intention  versus  spontaneity.  But 
Munich,  as  it  seems  to  me,  never  categorized 
itself  in  its  productions  so  definitely  and  so  over- 
whelmingly as  Berlin.  I  recollect  of  reading  in 
some  book  by  a  native  that  Prussia  is  supremely 
the  intellectual  State,  and  has  to  be  so  in  order 
to  exist,  being  founded  upon  its  PuWic  School 
System  with  many  educational  layers  between  till 
the  University.  The  Prussian  State  according 
to  its  great  Philosopher,  must  be  self-conscious, 
is  that  "  which  knows  itself  and  wills  what  it 
knows."  This  citation  you  will  recognize  as 
Hegel's. 

By  the  way  I  have  often  had  to  think  of  Hegel 
in  perambulating   this  city.     I  maintain  that  he 
is  still  its. philosopher,  though   he  is  said  to  be 
dethroned  at  the  University.    And  I  still  further 
maintain  that  Berlin  was  Hegeliiin  before  Hegel, 
that  the    philosopher  only  formulated    its    real 
character  from  the  beginnins:.      To  be  sure,  he 
cnme  to  Berlin  from  Southern  Germany,  but  each 
was  really  born  for  the  other,  and  each   at  last 
formed   the    other.     No  philosopher   since    his 
time,  it  is  said,  has  been  in  such  vogue  here,  and 
with  good  reason.     Hegel  found  his  true  actuality 
in  Berlin,  and    Berlin  found  its  true  ideality  in 
Hegel.     He  was  for  a  time  the  State  philosopher, 
and  Plato's  dream  came  nearer  to  being'  realized 
than  ever  before  or  since. 

I  must  tell  you  that  I  went  to  call  on  Prof.  C. 


A  TOUR  AV  EUROPE.  325 

L.  Michelet,  one  of  tho  editors  of  Ilesrers 
works,  tuid  one  of  tlie  last  survivors  of  the  old 
set  of  Hegel's  apostles.  Tlie  IlUlorij  of  Phil- 
osophy in  the  cotnplete  Works  of  Hegel  came 
from  his  editorial  hand.  He  was  friendly,  chatty, 
reminiscential,  and  showed  eagerness  to  hear 
about  our  American  Hegelian  movement  at  St. 
Louis.  I  could  not  hel})  thinking  that  he  mani- 
fested once  or  twice  in  his  judgments  a  streak  of 
the  old  jealousies  which  helped  destroy  the 
Hegelian  school  from  within,  for  it  went  to 
pieces  not  merely  by  blows  given  from  without. 
Fortunately  we  in  St.  Louis  know  little  of  this 
disinteorratinor  element.  He  grave  a  dig:  at  Ros- 
enkranz  and  seemed  to  think  Strauss  was  still 
the  genuine  Hc";elian  article. 

You  are  aware  that  Brockmeyer  came  from 
Prussia,  of  which  he  often  speaks  "  as  my 
country,"  especially  when  he  wishes  to  give  point 
to  some --national  excellence.  I  have  frequently 
thought  of  him  here,  and  tried  to  identify  him 
with  his  State.  I  think  I  may  say  that  both 
have  a  tendency  to  absoluteness,  if  not  to  abso- 
lutism. Still  I  like  him  better  than  Prussia,  who 
is  powerful,  conscientious,  intelligent  but  not 
loveable,  certainly  not  at  first  sight. 

To  be  sure  I  see  Berlin  and  the  German  Em- 
pire under  very  unfavorable  circumstances.  The 
old  emperor  is  during  these  days  lying  danger- 
ously wounded  by  an  assassin  who  at  once  com- 


326  THE  GEEMAN  LOUP. 

mitted  suicide.  And  this  was  the  second  attempt 
upon  his  life  within  less  than  a  month.  A  deep 
relio;ious  unrest  prevails  in  the  land  on  account 
of  the  conflict  between  Church  and  State,  which 
seeins  to  have  started  afre^sh  the  old  animosities 
of  the  Thirty  Years'  War  between  Catholics 
and  Protestants.  But  the  chief  political  shock 
comes  from  the  struggle  with  the  Socialists  who 
are  a  decided  majority  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Berlin.  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  a  volcano 
underlies  this  city.  The  newspaper  which  I  read 
yesterday  is  suppressed  to-day.  I  recollect  the 
article  which  caused  the  suppression,  it  cer- 
tainly was  moderate  in  tone.  But  such  is  the 
tense  polilical  situation  that  any  trifle  irritates 
and  may  start  the  outbreak.  Every  person  who 
enters  the  city  is  subject  to  police  surveillance. 
I  was  careful  to  have  my  papers  in  order,  but 
two  ladies  who  had  come  to  see  the  old  Father- 
land from  St.  Louis,  and  whom  I  knew,  were 
not  so  fortunate.  I  went  with  them  to  the 
police  station  and  had  quite  a  little  brush  with 
an  overbearing  official  before  I  could  secure  their  I 
release,  with  permission  to  see  the  city.  At  this 
center  of  the  Empire  the  nervousness  seems 
greatest,  and  the  shadow  of  the  political  situa- 
tion, which  I  saw  and  felt  already  at  Munich,  is 
deepest.  Still  I  believe  in  Germany.  The  peo- 
ple are  sound  to  the  core,  and  are  not  yet  going 
to  die ;  iu  fact  they  are  not  going  to  lose  their 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  327 

hard- won  unity,  and  to  relapse  into  their  former 
divided  condition. 

Berlin  in  spite  of  all  these  troubles  is  growing 
at  a  prodigeous  rate,  and  I  spent  many  hours  in 
looking  at  its  manifold  new  structures,  to  see  if 
they  were  really  saying  anything  new  in  archi- 
tecture, which  is  here  in  great  popular  demand. 
Certainly  this  is  the  opportunity  of  the  German 
architect.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could 
trace  every  important  structural  motive  to  Italy 
or  to  Greece.  The  style  of  the  Renascence  is 
the  all-dominating  one,  which  undoubtedly  fits 
the  New  Birth  of  a  people.  But  you  would 
almost  think  that  it  was  the  New  Birth  of  the 
Italian  people,  quite  as  this  occurred  some 
centuries  ago,  so  close  is  the  imitation.  I 
hunted  in  vain  for  some  distinctive  architectonic 
signs  of  the  New  Birth  of  Germany  which  has 
taken  i)lace.  Schinkel  seems  here  to  be  re- 
garded as  the  great  constructive  genius  of  recent 
times.  He  is  a  close  follower  of  Greek  forms, 
but  I  could  not  feel  as  much  spontaneity  in  these 
Berlin  edifices  of  his  as  in  the  Bavarian,  though 
both  are  reproductions  inspired  by  Hellas. 
Again  one  perceives  the  erudition  of  art  rather 
than  its  originality.  I  believe  that  the  most 
typical  object  here  is  the  University  with  its  large 
body  of  learned  professors;  really  all  Berlin  is 
one  vast  University,  which  is  by  no  means  the 
worst  thing  in  the  world,  on  the  contrary  is  some- 


328  TEE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

thing  very  goofi  in  its  clue  limits.  To  be  sure 
the  soidier  is  everywhere  in  evidence,  and  I  am 
often  reminded  of  our  own  country  during  the 
Civil  War,  when  the  blue-coats  were  to  be  seen 
on  all  sides,  I  wearing  one  myself.  But  how 
quickly  they  vanished  at  the  word  of  peace!  It  is 
more  than  seven  years  since  the  Peace  of  Frank- 
fort, and  still  all  this  nnlitarism.  But  this  is  not 
exclusively  a  German,  bu't  a  European  malady,  of 
which  Europe  will  die  some  day  unless  it  can 
somehow  change  its  regimen. 

A  bodeful  prophecy,  you  may  think,  for  clos- 
ing a  letter;  but  I  may  add  my  strong  belief  that 
Europe  is  going  to  change  its  regimen.  Enough 
of  the  part  of  Isaiah  for  the  present. 


Vienna,  Sept.  3rd,  1878. 

The  train  from  Berlin  on  which  I  was  riding 
stopped  long  enough  at  Dresden  to  let  me  run 
out  to  the  Picture  Gallery  and  take  a  look  at  the 
two  famous  Madonnas,  Northern  and  Southern, 
Teutonic  and  Italian,  that  of  Holbein  and  that  of 
Kaphael  (the  Sistine  Madonna).  They  stand  in 
a  certain  rivalry,  one  thinks,  yea  opposition,  but 
the  latter  is  the  universal  favorite.  It  was  of 
course  something  to  see  the  originals,  but  there 
are  such  good  engravings  of  these  masterpieces 
that  one  is  familiar  with  thein  already.  At  any 
rate  I  was  rather  surprised  at    my   want   of  sur- 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  329 

prise  on  beholding  them.  When  the  train  sped 
onward,  and  I  had  time  to  reflect,  I  couchided 
that  I  did  not  get  much  that  was  new.  Still  the 
two  pictures  brought  up  again  that  dualism  which 
runs  so  deep  in  European  art,  and  which  finds  a 
loud  echo  in  me  at  tiie  present  time. 

The  difference  between  Vienna  and  BerHn  is 
felt  at  once.  The  Austrian  capital  has  been  sup- 
planted as  the  head  of  the  German  world,  and 
shows  it  in  a  certain  public  lassitude,  and  per- 
haps also  in  its  surrender  to  gayety.  On  the 
surface  it  seems  very  disselute ;  enormous,  indeed, 
abnormal  is  its  pleasure-seeking.  No  wonder  that 
the  scepter  passed  to  sterner  Berlin.  There  is 
more  sensuous  resignation  here  than  I  ever  found 
in  Italy.  And  there  is  more  here  to  titillate 
bodily  desire  than  appeared  to  me  in  Paris, 
usually  deemed  the  queen  of  scarlet-women. 
Yet  Vienna  is  amiable,  which  Berlin  is  not,  and 
does  not  try  to  be.  Moreover  one  now  gets  ©ut 
of  the  German  political  shadow,  which  hovers  so 
ominously  over  the  whole  new  Empire,  though 
Austria  is  not  without  her  problems. 

Vienna  has  also  the  craze  for  extensive  build- 
ing, though  in  a  different  way  from  Berlin,  where 
it  springs  directly  from  the  needs  of  the  growing 
city.  Vienna  has  removed  her  old  walls  and 
fortifications,  and  is  putting  in  their  stead  fine 
edifices,  which  still  have  their  scaffolding  around 
them. 


330  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

The  grand  creative  excellence  of  Vienna  has 
been  in  music,  which  is  not  so  easy  to  be  picked 
up  in  a  brief  stay.  Beethoven  and  Mozart, 
Havden  and  Schubert  belons;  here,  with  other 
composers  of  almost  equal  distinction.  We 
have  the  right  to  think  that  Vienna  is  or  was 
once  spontaneously  musical,  and  that  is  something 
into  whose  upbursting  fountain  on  this  spot  I 
would  like  to  penetrate,  if  I  could.  In  music 
German  genius  has  expressed  itself  far  more 
deeply  and  naturally  than  in  the  arts  of  outer 
spatial  form.  But  these  are  the  arts  which  I  am 
desperately  seeking,  and  to  whose  birth-place  in 
the  sunlit  South  I  feel  myself  drawn  irresistibly 
by  the  chords  of  destiny  itself.  I  listened,  how- 
ever, at  Vienna  to  some  public  orchestras,  and 
went  twice  to  the  Grand  Opera,  whose  season  has 
just  opened  with  Armida  and  the  Prophet,  both 
of  which  I  heard,  or  rather  saw,  for  the  scenic 
effect  somewhat  overbalanced  the  song. 

Good-by,  musical  Vienna!  The  next  time  may 
I  hear  thy  soul  uttering  itself  creatively  in 
music  —  which  has  not  been  my  lot  this  time. 
Doubtless  my  fault  again  ;  I  am  not  in  the  right 
attunement  myself.  My  two  art-senses,  sight  and 
hearing,  have  had  a  tremendous  war  and  the 
former  has  literally  crushed  the  latter  for  the 
present;  I  was  once  ear-souled  too,  but  now  I 
seem  to  have  become  wholly  eye-souled.     So  I 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  331 

sing  to  myself :    begone,  off  to  the  liinit-ilUuni- 
nating  South  ! 

Trieste,  Sept.  8th,  1878. 

Another  day  spent  in  whirling  around  and  over 
lofty  mountains-  and  through  Alpine  valleys, 
till  we  sweep  across  the  watershed  and  run 
down  hill  to  the  sea  on  which  lies  this  city! 
Trieste  has  its  peculiar  character;  it  is  a  center 
in  which  several  nationalities  meet  at  a  point, 
from  different  directions.  The  German  (Aus- 
trian) is  in  control;  the  urban  masses  are 
Italian;  the  Greek  is  strongly  represented  in 
commerce;  the  surrounding  rural  population  is 
said  to  be  chiefly  Slavic.  There  is  a  tine  Greek 
church  in  a  prominent  place.  I  went  into  it 
and  heard  the  service  for  the  first  time  in  my  life 
and  looked  at  the  people,  especially  at  the  women, 
among  whom  I  already  sought  to  pick  out  fair 
Helen.  Also  I  tried  my  first  spoken  Greek 
(which  I  have  been  studying  from  books)  on  a 
Greek  shopkeeper,  who  easily  understood  me  but 
corrected  my  accent  in  his  reply.  So  I  have 
actually  begun  talking  the  language  of  the  Gods! 
Trieste  is  claimed  as  a  part  of  the  so-called  unre- 
deemed Italy  {Italia  irredenta),  over  which 
there  is  some  political  agitation.  Really  it  is  a 
sort  of  trilingual  point  in  the  transition  from  the 
Teutonic  world  intothe  two  Southern  Peninsulas, 
Greek  aud  Italian, 


332  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

Accordingly  at  this  city  I  find  myself  passing 
out  of  Germany,  where  I  have  been  lingering 
some  two  months.  Naturally  I  look  back  as  I 
cross  the  border.  I  have  felt  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  two  civilizations  of  Europe,  the  transal- 
pine and  the  cisalpinoorthe  Mediterranean,  both 
of  which  have  expresssd  themselves  quite  fully 
in  their  respective  Fine  Arts.  It  is  this  expres- 
sion which  attracts  me  now.  Indeed  I  feel  my 
chief  interest  at  present  quite  confined  to  one 
phase  of  this  expression,  namely,  the  visible 
Arts,  those  which  embody  themselves  to  sight  in 
spatial  forms  —  Architecture,  Sculpture,  and 
Painting.  It  is  somewhat  of  a  mystery  to  my- 
self why  I  should  seek  so  violently  to  behold  and 
to  commune  with  nature  transformed  into  shapes 
of  beauty.  You  my  friend,  as  you  know  me  well, 
can  think  it  over  and  out,  and  tell  me.  Some- 
times I  say  to  myself  that  this  strong  inclination 
to  the  external  forms  of  Art  is  a  rebound  from 
an  equally  one-sided  pursuit  of  internal  forms 
of  spirit,  that  is,  a  reaction  from  my  previous 
study  of  philosophy,  and  even  of  poetry.  For 
philosophy  deals  with  the  abstract  concepts  of 
mind,  and  poetry  deals  with  its  inner  images. 
But  at  present  I  seem  not  really  happy  unless 
the  image  rushes  into  body,  and  by  the  same 
psychology  the  imageless  category  must  be- 
come incorporate.  You  know  that  I  have  never 
seen  Art  in  its  originative    home    before,    and 


A  TOUR  IN  EUIiOPE.  ■  38 

never  felt  it  in  its  primal  act  of  creation.  I 
have  only  heard  echoes  and  seen  copies,  often 
copies  of  copies.  But  in  Europe  one  comes 
into  communion  with  artistic  genesis  itself, 
provided  that  he  really  needs  such  an  exi)eri- 
ence  and  is  ready  for  it.  Thus  I  cannot  help 
feeling  that  a  great  void  in  my  soul,  a  hitherto 
undeveloped  part  of  me,  is  getting  its  own,  yea 
is  demanding  its  right  and  place  in  the  totality  of 
human  life.  Perhaps  every  person  feels  or 
ought  to  feel  himself  only  a  fragment  of  a  soul 
without  the  discipline  of  Art. 

It  has  become  deeply  impressed  upon  me  that 
around  this  Mediterranean  Sea,  over  which  1  am 
now  looking  beyond  and  beyond,  lies  the  genera- 
tive fatherland  of  the  seen  Arts  and  of  all  their 
typical  forms.  The  North  has  at  bottom  merely 
imitated  them,  undoubtedly  with  a  good  deal  of 
skill  and  diversity.  On  the  other  hand,  Teutonia 
is  born  musical,  poetic,  and  philosoj)hic.  These 
three  ways  of  expression  are  native  to  her, 
bursting  up  spontaneously  from  the  deepest 
depths  of  her  Folk-Soul,  and  speaking  to  her 
and  to  all  the  world  as  no  other  Art. 

Somehow  without  my  intending  it  or  even 
thinking  of  it  at  the  time,  I  have  visited  in  suc- 
cession the  three  German  homesteads  of  Poetry, 
Philosophy  and  Music  —  Weimar  (Goethe  and 
Schiller),  Prussia  (Hegel  and  Kant),  Vienna 
(Beethoven  and  Mozart).     You  arc    aware  tliat 


334  THE  GERMAN'  LOUP. 

in  St.  Louis  I  gave  years  to  these  forms  of  ex- 
pression. Often  you  have  been  in  my  home  and 
know  that  we  had  a  household  devoted  to  music, 
as  our  most  congenial  pastime.  In  my  vocation 
I  taught  poetry  (Shakespeare  especially)  and 
philosophy  at  the  High  School  for  many  years. 
Quite  internal  and  subjective  are  all  these  Teu- 
tonic modes  of  expression,  from  which  I  have 
now  turned  away  to  their  external  counterpart, 
to  the  outer  forms  of  Art  in  the  South.  I  am 
trying  to  find  my  other  lacking  half  of  culture, 
and  I  have  glimpsed  it  and  its  dwelling-place,  I 
think.  So  you  see  I  am  in  a  manner  reacting 
against  what  I  have  been  and  done  before. 

Another  difference  between  these  two  sorts  of 
artistic  utterance,  the  Northern  and  the  South- 
ern, has  come  home  to  me  with  a  good  deal  of 
stress:  the  one  is  transferrible,  the  other  not,  or 
onl}^  partially  so.  I  can  get  the  creative  Shakes- 
peare in  St.  Louis,  if  I  read  him  creatively,  as 
well  as  I  can  at  Stratford;  likewise  I  can  com- 
mune with  the  genetic  soul  of  the  philosopher 
immediately  through  the  printed  page.  The 
same  is  true  of  the  musical  composer,  though  by 
the  nature  of  his  art  he  has  an  interpreter  as 
intermediary  between  his  soul  and  that  of  his 
hearer.  But  these  Southern  arts  are  fixed  in 
space  and  confined  to  a  locality.  Their  original 
creative  impulse  can  hardly  be  transferred  to  a 
copy  and  carried  away.     In  this  sense  they  can- 


A  TOUB  ly  EUROPE.  335 

not  go  to  St.  Louis,  but  St.  Louis  must  come  to 
them.  Moreover  they  have  no  inner  process  in 
Time,  as  have  Mu^^ic  and  Poetry  and  Philosophy  ; 
at  most  they  stand  crystallized  in  a  given 
moment,  and  cannot  march  forward.  On  this 
side  they  are  still  external  matter,  though  matter 
transfioured  and  endowed  with  soul  and  self. 

Here  I  nmst  break  off  this  retrospect  and  leave 
you  to  sup[)ly  the  rest  as  you  may  choose.  I  am 
stepping  over  the  boundary-line  between  Teu- 
tonia  and  Italia,  which,  though  fluctuating  some- 
what, has  existed  from  old  Roman  days  and  still 
exists,  making  Europe  two-fold  and  rendering 
her  history  and  art  dualistic. 

Venice,  Sept.  10th,  1878. 

I  remember  addressing  a  letter  to  you  from 
this  city  some  days  more  than  two  months  ago, 
for  it  was  about  the  Fourth  of  July.  At  that 
time  I  started  from  here  and  wheeled  westward 
and  northward  till  I  touched  the  Rhine.  Then 
followed  a  sweep  eastward  to  Berlin  and  south- 
ward through  Vienna,  till  I  have  gotten  back  to 
my  Italian  starting-point.  This  round  embraces 
almost  the  whole  body  of  Germany  —  I  call  it 
the  German  loup  of  my  European  journey,  the 
latter  being  by  no  means  yet  complete.  From 
the  loup  at  Venice  I  conceive  a  string  to  be  hang- 
in^*-  down  to  Rome,  namelvthe  railroad  by  which 


336  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

I  came  and  by  which  I  shall  return.  Enclosed  is 
a  small  map  on  which  I  have  traced  by  a  pencil- 
line  this  German  loup,  which  without  my  intend- 
ing it,  insists  upon  being  an  integral  part  of  my 
experience  in  Europe. 

I  have  again  begun   to  make    dives   into  this 
Venetian  sea  of  color  both  in  nature  and  art.     I 
tackled  Tintoretto  once  more  in  that  enormous 
picture  of  his  called  ParatZu-o  with  its  vast  popu- 
lation of  faces,  which  looked  down  from  the  wall 
upon    me    standing    alone  before  them.     But  I 
shall  have  to  let  Ruskin  keep  his  Tintoretto,  so 
much  praised  by  him.     I  turned  away  and  began 
to  muse  upon  the  lonely  grandeur  of  this  Doge's 
Palace,  and  indeed  of  the  whole  city.     What  is 
the  source  of  the  fall  of  Venice?     It  is  not  yet  a 
ruin  like  ancient  Rome  but  it  is  a  shell  colossal, 
a  many-colored  sea-shell  quite  abandoned,  though 
still  entire.     We  feel  thxit   the  life  which    once 
dwelt  here  and  built  for  itself  this  fair  abode, 
has  fled.     In  the  medieval  time  Venice  succeeded 
in  making  herself  the  chief  commercial  middle- 
man  between   East   and    West.     Other    Italian 
cities  sought  the  same  prize  and  hence  their  wars 
with  one  another.     But  when  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  was  rounded,  Venice  and  all  Italy,  yea  the 
Mediterranean  itself  was  flanked,  and  thus  they 
all  lost  their  function  in  the  world's  commerce, 
whereby  they  lai)sed  slowly  into  the  poverty  of 
to-day.     My  gondolier  even  could  say  :  Venice  is 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  337 

dead,  and  new  Ituly  has  not  brought  her  to  Hfe. 
The  contrast  rises  before  the  traveler  every 
where :  present  indigence  and  })ast  magnificence. 
Once  the  money  of  Europe  flowed  through  Italy, 
a  great  deal  of  it  through  Venice,  w'hich  kept 
enough  of  it  to  build  for  itself  this  iridescent 
sea-shell  peering  above  the  waves. 

Well,  here  conies  the  little  boat  which  is  to 
carry  me  to  the  Lido^  where  Venice,  or  rather 
the  strangers  in  it,  are  taking  a  summer-bath  in 
the  waters  of  the  Adriatic. 


Ve.nice,  Sept.  11  th,  1878. 

Scarcely  is  the  excessive  heat  past  when  a  new 
scourge  makes  its  appearance  among  you ;  now 
it  is  that  horrible  pestilence,  the  yellow  fever, 
which  racks  me  with  anxiety.  Truly  St.  Louis 
and  the  Mississippi  Valley  are  laboring  under  a 
divine  judgment ;  the  wrath  of  the  Gods  ceases 
for  a  moment,  only  to  reappear  under  a  new 
form.  What  sins  have  you  committed  in  my 
absence?  For  you  are  certainly  cursed  in  the 
eye  of  Heaven,  if  infernal  torments  are  any 
signs  of  angry  punishment  from  above.  No 
news  has  yet  reached  me  that  the  plague  has 
really  entered  thecity,  and  I  hope  it  may  be  kept 
out.  My  thoughts  often  turn  to  you  and  I 
wonder  how  you  may  be  doing;    the   little  girl, 

22 


.*^3.:  THE  GEIiMAN  LOUP. 

that  well-spring  of  solicitude,  sends  an  anxious 
'  vill  through  my  waking  hours,  and  then  in  per- 
son enters  my  dreams.  This  morning  I  rose 
heavy  from  a  night's  wrestling  with  the  un- 
chained demons  of  Care. 

But  let  forebodings  be  now  dismissed  in  the 
presence  of  the  merry  world  which  capers  and 
chatters  through  this  city.  I  am  lodged  on  the 
fifth  floor  overlooking  the  liiva  dei  Schiavoni ; 
my  window  entices  the  eye  far  seaward,  through 
islands,  lagoons,  edifices  of  stately  magnificence. 
In  this  net  work  spun  by  Nature  and  improved  by 
the  cunning  hand  of  man,  lies  the  Venetian 
spider,  once  the  greatest  of  the  species,  but  now 
very  feeble,  if  not  quite  dead.  I  seethe  monster 
arachnoid  issuing  from  her  labyrinthine  web  and 
■  smiting  her  prey,  dragging  it  into  her  inextric- 
able toils,  till  she  becomes  the  wealthiest  and 
most  hated  citv  in  the  world.  There  is  much 
that  is  great  and  noble  in  the  history  of  Venice, 
but  its  fundamental  political  principle — secret 
murder  by  the  State  —  is  most  revolting.  There 
is  still  something  spider-like  here;  a  sullenness, 
a  silence,  a  secretness  —  no  streets  hardly,  no 
wheeled  vehicles,  no  rumble  and  roar  of  a  city. 
The  spider  sits  gloomy  and  solitary,  till  she 
makes  a  dart  and  skims  swiftly  over  the  surface 
of  the  sea  and  returns  with  her  spoils,  out  of 
which  she  built  these  palaces — such  is  tho 
image  which  I  can  not  get  rid  of  here. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  339 

Still  the  people  can  not  be  melancholy ;  they 
are  Italians,  the  lightest-hearted  nation  on  the 
globe.  Under  my  window  stretches  the  long 
quay,  upon  which  the  po})ulation  are  assembled; 
the  sun  has  just  gone  down  and  the  breeze  is  blow- 
ing freshly  from  the  sea.  A  band  of  minstrels 
is  singing  in  chorus;  very  good  is  their  song,! 
think,  given  with  a  natural  sense  of  rhythm  and 
melody.  As  it  grows  dark,  a  Bengal  light 
changes  the  color  of  this  scene  for  a  few 
moments,  since  without  a  change  of  coloring, 
the  Italian  here  can  not  exist.  He  seems,  as  I 
have  observed  him,  to  be  least  able  to  endure 
monotony  of  color:  he  tires  quickly,  unless  new 
tints  arrest  his  vision  and  gratify  his  keen 
pleasure  in  the  sense  of  sight.  Fire  works  are 
most  perfect  in  Italy,  and  perhaps  most  intensely 
enjoyed.  Sailors  of  all  nations,  Oriental  cos- 
tumes, well-dressed  foreigners  with  dignified 
English  miens,  beggars  in  rags,  sallow  Venetian 
women  make  up  the  display. 

But  there  is  another  character  here  who  has 
proI)al)l3'  reached  the  lowest  tier  of  the  lowest 
species  of  our  genus  —  the  pimp.  As  I  recline  on 
a  bridge  and  look  at  the  sparkle  of  the  waters, 
this  human  reptile  approaches  me,  and  recog- 
nizing my  nationality  speaks  in  broken  English. 
What  he  said  need  not  be  told,  but  he  gave  a 
new  glance  into  a  very  old  vice  of  this  Mediter- 
ranean world. 


340  THE  GEBMAN  LOUP. 

While  writing  this  letter  late  at  night,  I  have 
many  reminders  of  St.  Louis  buzzing  round  my 
ears — mosquitoes.  Here  he  is,  the  iudefatigu- 
able  serenader  and  blood-sucker ;  I  confess  that  I 
am  inclined  to  entertain  him  as  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. There  is  no  protection  in  my  room  against 
him;  such  a  thing  as  a  mosquito  net  does  not 
belong  to  the  poetry  of  Venice.  Comfort  any- 
how is  prose,  to  be  uncomfortable  is  to  be  ro- 
mantic; hence  I  cry,  away  with  all  comfort. 
This  is  one  reason  why  Italy  is  so  full  of  attrac- 
tion; everywhere  you  have  poetical  adventures 
outside  of  the  conveniences  of  home. 

The  Palace  of  the  Doges  which  I  pass  many 
times  every  day  is  not  unlike  the  political  edifice 
of  Venice ;  the  structure  is  indeed  an  image  of 
the  spirit  by  which  it  was  erected  and  inhabited. 
The  architecture  of  the  Renaissance  has  in  gen- ' 
eral  the  tendency  to  become  more  open  and  free 
as  it  rises  toward  the  sun ;  but  this  edifice  grows 
darker  and  more  close  as  it  ascends.  The  upper 
story  seems  to  refuse  light ;  it  is  a  secret  to  the 
beholder  below;  gloomy  and  forbidding  is 
its  look.  The  Head  of  the  State  must  be  a 
mystery,  its  workings  are  not  to  be  looked  upon 
by  human  eyes.  Time  even  has  not  been  able  to 
throw  liijht  into  these  obscure  dungeons  of  His- 
tory;  only  vugue  forms  of  victims  writhing  in 
the  dark  may  be  seen  there.  But  the  lowest 
story  is  an  open  arcade  where  the  whole  people 


A  TOUE  m  EUROPE.  341 

may  enter  under  the  protection  (jf  those  above ; 
the  middle  story  is  Hiore  enclosed,  yet  broken 
through  with  a  curious  Gothic  tracery  suggesting 
dim  riddles  inside. 

Who  now  has  possession  of  the  buikling?  Not 
Doge,  hardly  Venice;  it  is  the  tourist  who  is 
seen  traversing  these  stately  halls,  where  kings 
and  emperors  appeared  before  the  proud  mistress 
of  the  Adriatic.  What  does  it  all  mean?  I  can 
road  only  one  inscription  here  :  God's  justice.  1 
walked  alone  through  the  chamber  of  the  famous 
Senate ;  the  echoes  of  my  solitary  footsteps 
sounded  like  the  chuckles  of  old  Satan. 

Another  highly  characteristic  monument  I  saw 
to-day :  the  equestrian  statue  of  the  famous 
Condottiere,  Bariollomeo  Colleoni.  On  the 
whole  this  is  the  best  work  of  the  kind  that  I 
have  seen  anywhere ;  it  is  best  because  it  is  the 
most  perfect  representation  of  the  man,  the 
country  and  the  age.  It  is  the  bold  robber,  not 
as  an  outlaw,  but  in  the  pay  of  the  State;  proudly 
he  raises  himself  in  his  stirrups,  with  a  look  of 
self-conscious  importance,  such  as  belongs  to  the 
first  man  of  the  land.  Though  the  mighty 
leader  of  the  armies  of  the  State,  still  he  is  but  a 
robber  and  hireling;  these  are  the  contradictory 
traits  which  the  artist  has  made  to  interpenetrate 
so  subtly;  Venice  herself  can  find  her  historical 
character  adumbrated  to  no  small  degree  in 
that   statue.     Such  is  a   true  work  of  art,    re- 


342  THE  OEBMAN  L  0  UP. 

fleeting  in  the  individual  form  the  spirit  of  nations 
and  epochs.  There  is  indeed  more  history  to  be 
read  in  this  statue  than  in  mountains  of  official 
records.  Notice  too  that  he  stands  in  a  sacred 
place,  before  a  church  as  a  pattern  for  the  peo- 
ple. Good  bje,  old  Colleoni,  I  confess  I  like 
you  and  I  shall  not  soon  forget  you,  and  I  ought 
to  keep  in  mind  the  artist  who  made  you,  Andrea 
dal  Verocchio. 

1  am  getting  a  little  tired  of  traveling,  I  have 
lately  swept  around  too  much.  But  I  have  still 
one  task  to  perform,  which  being  done,  I  shall 
be  ready  to  return  home  at  any  moment.  I  must 
yet  see  Greece  and  breathe  its  atmosphere ;  for 
in  it  there  is  or  was  some  subtle  exhiliration 
not  elsewhere  known  upon  our  earth.  Still 
more,  I  have  a  very  strong  desire  to  learn  the 
modern  Hellenic  :  to  be  able  to  speak  it  a  little 
and  to  understand  it  a  little  when  spoken.  I 
have  always  wished  to  bring  to  higher  perfection 
my  knowledge  of  ancient  Greek ;  to  make  it  live 
within  me,  if  possible — to  make  it  an  instinct  and 
not  a  reflective  process  of  translation.  But  this 
feeling  of  language  can  only  be  attained,  I  am 
satisfied,  through  the  tongueand  the  ear ;  that  is, 
by  being  able  to  speak  the  language  and  to  under- 
stand it  when  spoken.  As  long  as  I  live  I  shall 
read  Greek  i  lore  or  less :  it  will  be  a  saving  of  time 
to  finish  the  matter  now  as  far  as  possible.  The 
modern  Hellenic  offers  the    only  means,  not  a 


A  TOUR  I.y  EUROPE.  343 

perfect  one  perhaps,  to  attain  this  end.  So  my 
thoughts  now  daily  go  out  towards  the  extreme 
limit  of  my  journey  — Athens.  I  bought  a  mod- 
ern Greek  conversation  book  to-day,  and  I  begin 
to  talk  with  myself  about  my  dinner,  about  my 
clothes,  and  haggle  about  prices  in  the  language 
of  the  Gods. 

Moreover  I  feel  that  I  am  laden  with  as  much 
material  as  I  can  work  over  in  many  years.  In- 
deed most  of  it  I  shall  probably  never  touch 
again.  I  have  learned  a  great  many  of  my  limits, 
and  there  is  no  use  of  trying  to  do  what  can  never 
be  accomplished.  A  sense  of  satiety  fills  the 
mind  when  you  simply  shovel  in  food  without 
digestion.  I  desire  to  return  home  and  put  this 
European  trip  to  sleep  foF  a  time;  then  we  may 
see  into  what  sort  of  a  thing  it  wakes  up  after  its 
repose,  if  indeed  it  ever  wakes  up. 

Venice,  Sept.  14/h,  1878. 

Before  1  leave  this  city,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  sit 
down  and  tell  you  my  chief  delights.  In  Archi- 
tecture of  course  the  church  of  San  Marco  comes 
first  into  the  eye  and  then  sinks  deep  into  the 
imagination.  Its  name  is  splendor,  to  which  we 
may  add  a  surname,  calling  it  Oriental  splendor. 
The  gorgeous  details  inside  and  outside  possess 
you  from  the  first;  decoration  is  heaped  on  deco- 
ration without  internal  connection;  acres  of  gilt 


344  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

and  richly-colored  mosaic,  forests  of  tiie  most 
precious  marbles,  sculptured  reliefs  of  every 
variety  press  upon  you  for  study  and  recot^nition 
till  the  mind  is  stunned  and  refuses  to  look  at 
anything.  San  Marco,  thus  is  a  little  like  the 
army  of  importunate  guides  and  venders  who 
loiter  before  its  doors,  and  waylay  the  tourist 
with  so  much  importunity  that  he  will  not  em- 
ploy any  of  them  or  buy  their  wares. 

What  inspired  all  this  luxury  of  ornamenta- 
tion? The  thought  will  force  itself  upon  you  that 
much  of  it  is  without  any  inherent  necessity,  that 
is,  without  any  true  principle  of  life.  At  least  I 
could  not  find  any  reasonable  thread  to  connect 
it  together  after  many  hours'  contemplation. 
Taken  by  itself,  a  great  deal  of  it  is  very  fine,  and 
all  of  it  curious;  but  I  am  smothered  in  this 
tropical  jungle.  San  Marco  is  not  therefore  a 
work  of  the  creative  imagination  in  the  highest 
sense;  its  range  lies  in  the  realm  of  the  capricious 
fancy,  and  hence  is  Oriental.  But  what  a  history 
of  the  Venetian  State  and  of  the  Venetian  relig- 
ion does  not  this  church*  write?  Pomp  is  the 
God  worshipped  here,  whatever  other  titles  he 
may  have. 

So  one  grows  bewildered  and  perhaps  a  little 
impatient  with  the  details,  for  they  lead  nuwhere, 
for  they  do  not  take  our  soul  by  the  hand  as  it 
were  and  conduct  us  deeper  and  deeper  towards 
the  central    thought,  to   the    veritable  Holy  of 


A  TOVB  IN  EUROPE.  345 

Holies  ia  a  work  of  art.  Next  I  occupy  a  seat 
inside  of  the  church  and  banish  all  this  endless 
ornament;  I  see  only  the  grand  proportions  of 
the  edifice.  Now  its  secret  comes  to  light,  the 
truly  noble' and  very  simple  architectural  prin- 
ciple furnishes  a  perpetual  enjoyment  to  the 
mind.  You  see  the  central  dome  surrounding 
itself  on  each  side  with  four  lesser  domes  —  the 
mother  with  her  four  daughters  clinging  around 
her  body  at  every  significant  point.  This  gives 
the  square  shape  as  fundamental  which  now  rises 
before  the  eye  in  many  repetitions,  furnishing 
the  proportion  for  the  height,  length  and  breadth 
of  the  edifice.  The  round  arch,  when  we  cast 
our  eye  upwards,  is  seen  joining  these  square 
forms;  the  square  passes  geometrically  in  the 
round.  Still  further  we  must  see  this  arch 
evolving  into  the  half-dome,  finally  into  the  full 
dome  which  is  an  infinitude  of  arches  held  from 
one  point,  from  one  key-stone.  So  the  archi- 
tecture begins  to  hang  together,  and  becomes 
great,  noble,  inspiring.  Now  I  cannot  see  the 
diffuse  decoration;  only  the  true  grandeur  of  the 
edifice  falls  into  my  eye;  whenever  I  catch  up  a 
thread  now,  it  leads  me  upwards  into  the  heart  of 
the  whole.  So  I  think,  but  let  me  add,  I  feel 
certain  that  not  one  of  the  fifty  visitors  who  in- 
spected San  Marco  to-day,  would  agree  with  me. 
It  is  the  ornament  which  seduces  the  eye. 

After  fixing  the   architectural   proportions  in 


346  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

the  mind,  we  tura  to  the  enormous  surface  of 
Mosaic  on  the  ceiling — a  perfect  heaven  of  gold, 
filled  with  radiant  angels.  Forty  thousand  square 
feet,  it  is  said;  every  part  shines  with  gilding  or 
with  colored  figures.  Here  the  old  Byzantine 
style  can  be  studied  along  with  the  methods  of 
painting — for  these  Mosaics  were  executed  at 
very  different  times.  Soon  the  eye  becomes 
trained  and  finds  a  new  dialect  for  the  expression 
of  a  new  era;  Painting  too  is  an  utterance  which 
like  language  is  transformed  by  each  succeeding 
new  age.  The  Mosaic  in  the  South  seems  to  be 
a  kind  of  parallel  to  the  painted  Gothic  window 
of  the  North  ;  I  am  inclined  to  prefer  the  latter, 
for  the  light  of  heaven  shining  through  the  saint 
or  angel  painted  on  theglass  fills  the  church  with 
a  new  illumination  which  can  only  be  received 
through  these  sacred  sources. 

I  have  taken  up  so  much  space  in  talking  about 
San  Marco  that  I  can  only  indicate  to  you  my 
favorite  secular  edifice — the  so-called  Bibliotheca 
of  Sansovino.  It  too  suffers  from  excessive 
ornament — the  great  vice  of  Venetian  Art;  but 
what  delightful  proportions  !  The  eye  at  once 
catches  them,  revels  in  them  and  can  not  be 
seduced  from  them  by  the  superficial  decoration. 
There  is  no  building  which  I  have  seen  that  so 
perfectly  expresses  happiness ;  it  makes  one 
happy  to  look  at  it.  No  struggle,  no  contorsion, 
indeed  no  effort  can  be  seen ;   satisfied  with  the 


A  TOUR  AV  EUROPE.  347 

earth,  with  the  beholder,  above  all  with  itself,  it 
does  not  want  to  be  any  better  off  than  it  is. 
What  a  graceful  and  luxuriant  play  of  classical 
forms!  Such  work  throws  more  sunshine  into 
the  human  heart  than  Phoebus  Apollo  himself; 
I  feel  a  kind  of  si)ontaneous  gladness  every  time  I 
look  at  it  when  I  pass  in  the  Piazza. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  after  repeated  effort  I 
can  not  arouse  in  myself  any  enthusiasm  for  the 
Venetian  school  of  painting  as  a  whole.  The 
fault  is  my  own,  it  lies  in  my  present  mood 
which  refuses  enjoyment  in  anything  but  classi- 
calclearness  and  severity  ;  play  of  color  for  its  own 
sake  I  can  not  delight  in.  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
that  only  one  picture  of  the  great  Paul  Veronese 
has  attracted  me ;  it  is  the  Rape  of  Europa  in 
the  Doge's  Palace.  The  grading  of  that  picture 
is  very  fine,  but  one  motive  in  it  is  in  the  highest 
degree  both  humorous  and  true:  the  bull  licks 
the  beautiful  naked  foot  of  his  fair  rider — what 
a  kiss!  As  I  was  standing  before  it,  lauiihinii:  at 
the  conceits  of  the  artist,  a  pretty  English  girl 
who  had  lost  her  way  in  the  maze  of  rooms  came 
up  and  asked  for  information.  I  set  her  aright, 
and  then  she  wanted  to  know  what  there  was 
which  was  so  funny  in  that  picture.  I  asked  her 
if  she  knew  of  the  story  of  Jupiter  and  Europa; 
she  said  no;  and  of  course,  I  could  not  tell  it  to 
her — that  rather  free  old  love-story.  So  I  con- 
tinued;  "That  animal  is  an  American  lover  who 


348  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 

is  going  to  carry  on  his  back  a  beautiful  English 
girl  across  the  ocean  to  his  home;  you  see  her 
■first  with  maids  preparing  her  toilet;  next  she  is 
on  tie  way  to  the  shore  in  the  distance;  thirdly 
you  see  her  now  in  the  middle  of  the  ocean 
still  on  the  back  of  her  lover,  but  with  hands 
upraised  in  terror  and  eyes  anxiously  turned 
back  toward  old  England.  She  wants  to  re- 
turn,  but  her  sturdy  lover,  well  knowing  the 
worth  of  his  prize  paws  and  paddles  ahead  for 
for  the  new  world."  She  reddened  a  little  and 
answered.  "If  I  had  an  American  in  that  situa- 
tion, I  would  never  turn  round."  Doubtless 
she  perceived  my  nationality,  then  that  English 
blush  was  the  finest  painting  Ihave  seenin  Europe. 
To  bring  before  you  a  total  picture  of  Venice, 
just  imagine  a  huge  tank  of  eels.  Did  you  ever 
see  a  large  trough  full  of  these  beasts,  winding, 
squirming,  darting  in  every  direction?  Take  a 
map  of  the  city,  which,  you  are  aware,  is  cut 
through  by  an  indefinite  number  of  irregular 
crooked  canals.  First  you  will  behold  an  im- 
mense eel  running:  throuoi;h  the  centre  of  it,  and 
making  two  big  curves  in  the  passage,  just  like 
the  bend  of  an  eel's  body  you  will  say;  this  is 
the  Canal  Grande.  Then  from  this  big  eel  the 
little  eels  run  out  towards  all  points  of  the  com- 
pass with  every  possible  variety  of  twist,  fiexure 
and  tortuousity;  these  are  the  snuill  canals  which 
take    the    place    of   the    streets  of  other  cities. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUliOPE.  349 

Through  them  the  goudohi  moves,  the  Venetian 
carriage.  Into  one  of  these  boats  the  traveler  at 
once  throws  himself,  and  goes  winding,  winding,* 
winding,  through  and  through,  between  lofty 
palaces,  under  low  bridges — "bobbing  for 
eels."  The  head  begins  to  swim,  as  we  say 
wrongly  ;  for  it  is  Venice  which  begins  to  swim — 
tank,  eels  and  all. 

Here  I  am  reminded  of  the  markets  of  cities 
on  the  sea;  they  are  always  worth  a  visit.  What 
monsters  do  not  these  people  devour?  Generally 
too  I  try  to  make  a  repast  of  some  of  the  most 
curious  and  repulsive  of  these  monsters,  cooked 
in  the  native  fashion ;  but  I  am  a  little  shy  since 
I  got  sick  over  a  dish  of  some  unknown  species 
of  cuttle-fish,  selected  only  for  its  devilish 
shape. 

My  two  Venetian  loves,  for  I  have  two,  are 
Titian's  Venus  and  Bellini's  Madonna.  Both  are 
glorious  types  of  women;  each  is  different  yet 
ideal  in  the  highest  degree.  Most  of  these  fair 
shapes,  which  the  artist  has  often  repeated,  have 
wandered  far  from  Venice;  Titian  is  perhaps 
seen  better  in  Florence  than  here.  His  Venus  is 
to  me  of  a  higher  nature  than  his  Madonna;  she 
is  no  mere  Goddess  of  sensuality  though  she  be 
undrapcd.  You  can  see  in  her  face  what  painting 
can  do,  and  how  it  becomes  an  utterance  peculiar, 
noble,  unap{)roachable  by  any  other  Art.  I  feel 
that  Titian  found  in   Painting    the  sole  possible 


350  THE  GEE ¥.1 N  LOUP. 

expression  of  the  ideal  within  him;  he  did  not 
want  poetry,  nor  sculpture,  nor  any  other  artistic 
method;  he,  like  every  real  genius,  was  complete 
and  happy  in  the  limits  of  his  Art.  What  im- 
presses me  is  his  absolute  ease  and  serenity ;  I 
hate  to  hear  anybody  speak  of  his  skill  in  color, 
his  management  of  light  and  shade,  or  his  merely 
technical  dexterities.  Why  talk  so  much  about 
his  tools,  and  so  little  about  the  thing  he  has 
done?  Some  time,  if  I  can  find  the  difficult 
word,  I  shall  try  to  hint  to  you  from  afar  what 
he  has  wrought ;  now  I  cannot  do  it,  I  have  not 
the  word.  Nor  must  one  forget  that  his  true 
utterance  is  there,  in  the  picture,  of  which  lan- 
guage must  always  be  a  very  bare,  inadequate 
translation.  Titian,  I  hold  to  be  the  greatest  of 
all  Venetians,  in  whatsoever  sphere  of  activity 
you  may  take  them ;  for  his  sake  I  love  Venice 
more  than  for  her  own  sake;  the  mother  which 
brouo-ht  forth  such  a  man  is  adorable,  as  the 
mother  of  a  divine  genius. 

The  time  has  now  arrived  when  I  must  leave 
Venice  the  second  time,  for  1  was  here  on  my  way 
to  the  North  during  the  past  summer.  Of  course 
1  have  not  exhausted  a  tithe  of  its  glories ;  but  I 
have  done  enough  for  a  short  study.  A  lively 
but  melancholy  picture  it  leaves  in  my  mind — 
poverty,  lack  of  energy,  filth.  How  can  a  great 
people  become  so  utterly  emasculated?  The 
loudest  complaints  about  the  taxation  of  the  gov- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUltOPE.  351 

eruiuent  are  heard,  yet  the  city  does  nothing  for 
itself.  It  allows  the  commerce  of  the  Adriatic 
to  settle  at  Trieste  in  the  hands  of  Austria; 
yet  Italy  now  wants  Trieste.  But  political  mat- 
ters I  have  abjured,  so  I  must  break  off  this 
strain. 

This  afternoon  I  went  out  to  the  Lido  or  Coast 
where  the  open  sea  bounds  the  tract  of  lagoons. 
The  view  was  delii»;htful,  the  air  invio:oratin2:,  and 
many  a  stately  structure  seemed  to  spring  up  out 
of  the  sea  in  every  direction — one  would  say  they 
were  floating  on  the  surface  of  the  water.  After 
enjoying  the  sight  for  a  time,  I  entered  the  large 
bathing  establishment  where  the  wealthier  Vene- 
tians  and  also  many  strangers  cool  themselves  off 
during  the  hot  season.  I  purchased  a  ticket  and 
entered  the  water;  Lord,  what  an  indiscriminate 
crowd  of  men  and  women  in  the  stranarest  cos- 
tumes — some  in  almost  no  costume  at  all.  I,  dia- 
pered only  around  my  loins,  felt  at  first  a  little 
ashamed  to  go  into  the  company  of  ladies;  but 
as  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  me,  I  plunged 
in.  Of  course  I  had  lots  of  fun,  particularly  in 
diving  for  the  feet  of  a  young  Italian  Miss,  who 
screamed  like  Andromeda  at  the  touch  of  the 
sea-monster. 


352  THE  GERMAN  LOUP. 


Bologna,  Sept.  15th. 

I  rode  through  the  morning  twilight  in  a  gon- 
dola to  the  railroad  station ;  I  felt  a  shudder  in 
passing  through  these  narrow  canals  with  lofty 
palaces  built  straight  out  of  the  water  on  both 
sides.  What  chance  of  escape  in  case  of  acci- 
dents! No  friendly  land,  no  open  entrance  to 
any  house ;  a  perpendicular  wall  and  deep  water 
confront  you.  Your  gondolier  breaks  the  silence 
by  a  shout  of  warning  whenever  he  turns  a  bend 
or  corner;  it  sounds  something  like  "ahoy," 
— otherwise  there  is  noug-ht  but  the  muffled 
splash  of  his  oar,  always  a  boding,  funereal 
sound.  Once  on  a  train,  I  arrive  in  a  few  hours 
at  Bologna,  where  I  have  just  inspected  the 
gallery. 

You  know  the  school  of  Bologna  has  a  very 
prominent  place  in  the  History  of  Painting.  It 
made  the  desperate  attempt  to  resuscitate  an  Art 
which  was  sinking  —  sinking  for  a  good  reason  ; 
it  had  uttered  itself  and  had  really  nothing  more 
to  say.  Such  I  take  to  be  the  state  of  Painting 
after  Raphael,  Michel  Angelo,  and  Titian.  The 
consequence  is  that  this  school  everywhere  bears 
the  mark  of  struggle,  of  effort  to  do  more  than 
its  Art  can  do,  a  restless  unhappy  school.  In 
this  city  it  can  be  seen  perhaps  at  its  best ;  I  tell 
you  my  impression :    everywhere   is    written  on 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  353 

these  works — Christian  Paiuting  is  d-ead  beyond 
resurrection.  This  was  about  300  years  ago — 
has  not  the  death  sentence  been  confirmed?  Men 
of  very  high  gifts — the  Caracci,  Guido,  Domen- 
ichino  —  were  here,  and  they  were  determined, 
desperately  determined  to  paint  great  things. 
Alas,  we  see  chiefly  their  desperation.  The  sub- 
jects were  mostly  horrible — dead  Christs,  slaugh- 
ters, martyrdoms — and  they  were  treated  in  the 
most  horrible  manner.  But  here  I  must  break 
the  current,  which  has  perhaps  shocked  you 
enough  for  once. 

23 


TRome  nil. 

Borne,  Sept.  16th,  1878. 

Back  in  Rome  the  second  time !  and  lodged  in 
vay  old  room  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
Fountain  of  Trevi,  whose  roaring  waterfall  I  can 
hear!  I  thought  of  stopping  at  Florence  for 
some  days,  in  order  to  give  a  more  thorough 
study  to  the  art  of  that  city,  but  the  impulse  to 
reach  Rome  was  too  headstrong.  Still  during 
the  delay  of  a  couple  of  hours  I  saw  again  the 
finest  Florentine  Palazzos  of  the  Renascence, 
which  are  probably  the  most  original  achieve- 
ment of  Florence  in  the  line  of  art.  They  are 
indeed  a  rejuvenescence  of  ancient  Roman  archi- 
tecture, but  with  a  spirit  of  their  own,  in  which 
one  may  read  that  the  modern  world  has  dawned. 
(354) 


A  TOUR  IX  EUROPE.  355 

They  glorify  the  sccuhir  Family,  which  tlie 
medieval  Chu-rch  with  its  celibacy  could  uot 
specially  celebrate  in  its  art.  So  I  had  another 
view  of  Florence  in  her  highest  creative  expres- 
sion. 

My  room  already  begins  to  look  like  a  work- 
shop. The  books  which  I  left  behind  are  piled 
on  my  table,  my  helps  for  grasping  this  old 
world  are  at  hand;  I  prize  specially  a  picture  of 
the  human  body,  with  all  its  parts  duly  measured 
and  proportioned — a  great  aid  in  the  study  of 
sculpture.  Indeed  anatomy  is  very  necessary 
for  the  right  appreciation  of  art.  Especially  the 
statue  reproduces  man's  organism,  which  in  its 
spatial  fullness  must  be  the  bearer  of  the  sculptur- 
esque ideal.  Do  you  know  that  I  once  actuall}' 
entered  the  dissecting-room  at  the  old  McDowell 
Medical  (College,  and  there  cut  up  my  man?  I 
was  not  at  the  time  a  student  of  medicine  there, 
but  of  universal  Nature,  whose  whole  domain  I 
wished  to  compass.  I  find  the  knowledge  then 
obtained  to  be  useful  now  in  the  study  of  Sculp- 
ture. Very  significant  is  the  fact  that  these 
sculpturesque  shapes  are  not  literal  copies,  are  uot 
simply  reproductions  of  some  individual  body. 
You  feel  that  they  are  not  portraits  of  a  living 
model.  What  are  they  then?  Aye,  just  therein 
lies  the  crucial  question  of  the  entire  realm  of 
art.  The  very  organism  is  not  alone  particular, 
but    strangely    exalted     into    universality;     this 


356  EOME  II. 

statue  is  not  merely  an  image  of  the  human  but 
of  the  divine  too.  Such  is  indeed  the  contradic- 
tion which  all  true  Art  reconciles :  the  mortal 
appearance  is  eternized,  the  human  divinized. 
The  old  artist  possessed  the  secret  power  of  mak- 
ing the  God  appear  as  man  to  man,  and  still 
remain  the  God.  That  is  verily  the  open  secret 
of  this  beautiful  classical  world :  the  transfigura- 
tion of  Nature  into  Art,  by  making  that  Nature 
reveal  and  incorporate  its  original  source,  its 
Creator.  How  often  have  we  together  pondered 
over  the  abstract  statement  of  the  philosopher 
who  says  that  the  universal  must  individualize, 
itself  in  order  to  be  universal.  Socrates  has  the 
thought  as  well  as  Heo;el.  I  believe  that  I  am 
getting  to  see  'with  my  eyes  just  that  thought  in 
the  statues  before  me.  What  are  they  but  the 
thousandfold  incarnations  of  the  God  to  human 
vision?  My  call  is,  then,  to  behold  a  divine 
epiphany  in  each  of  these  shapes  sculptured  with 
the  faith  of  the  old  Greek. 

After  such  an  abstract  dissertation,  you  may 
think  it  strange  when  I  confess  to  you  that  I  am 
growing  impatient  of  abstractions,  especially  in 
this  real  unabstract  world  where  I  can  actually 
see — see  the  unseen  becoming  the  seen,  for  in- 
stance in  the  face  of  Juno  Ludovisi. 

I  went  to-day  to  the  Vatican  Gallery  of  Sculp- 
ture in  which  I  had  not  been  for  three  months. 
What  a  pleasure  to  look  upon  these  old  friends, 


A    TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  357 

all  of  whom  I  knew  from  many  former  visits,  and 
some  of  whom  seemed  to  recognize  me!  I  had 
a  curious,  perchance  whimsical  experience.  The 
whole  Gallery  somehow  turned  to  an  Olympus 
of  all  the  Gods  sliding  deftly  into  their  white 
sha[)es,  and  welcoming  me  back  to  Rome, 

Well,  that  is  enou'^h,  I  hear  you  cry.  I  think 
so  myself,  and  so  I  shall  stop,  hoping  that  I  may 
yet  be  able  to  tell  you,  after  Homer's  way,  what 
the  Gods  said  to  one  another  and  to  me  in  their 
assembly. 

Borne,  Sept.  20th,  1878. 

I  have  been  expecting  a  bit  of  news  from  you 
but  none  comes;  so  I  shall  sit  down  and  send 
you  a  few  words  about  myself.  It  is  quite  prob- 
able that  some  of  my  mail  matter  has  gone 
astray,  in  trying  to  follow  me  through  my  per- 
ambulations. These  within  the  last  few  weeks 
have  been  quite  varied  — ^I  have  gone  zigzag 
through  Europe,  like  a  streak  of  lightning  which 
breaks,  twists  and  writhes  in  every  direction. 
Now  I  am  safely  lodged  once  more  in  old  liome 
which  seems  almost  like  a  second  home. 

I  found  my  room  ready  to  receive  me,  look- 
ing quite  as  I  left  it  last  June,  almost  three 
months  ago.  The  bed  had  its  white  cover,  which 
the  traveler  seldom  sees  in  the  ordinary  inns; 
on  the  headboard  was  still  the  dove  with  out- 
stretched wings,  symbol  of  the  Holy  Ghost;  and 


358  BO:U^E  IT. 

over  me,  as  I  lie  in  slumber,  is  a  small  relief  of 
the  thoiia-crowaed  Christ  which  the  piety  of  my 
landlady  has  placed  there  for  my  nightly  pro- 
tection. Faith  in  these  things  I  may  not"  pos- 
sess, but  I  do  have  the  fullest  faith  in  the  good 
■will  which  put  them  there  for  my  sake;  this  is  a 
solace  which  adds  not  a  little  to  my  repose.  I 
am  always  more  affected  by  these  simple  marks 
of  attention  than  by  the  most  ceremonious  dis- 
play of  hospitable  phraseology. 

But  she,  poor  woman,  has  changed,  yet  in  a 
perfectly  natural  and  not  unexpected  way.  She 
is  a  bride  of  not  quite  a  year's  duration;  the 
three  months  of  my  absence  have  brought  her 
within  a  few  weeks  of  her  time.  I  congratu- 
lated her  in  all  sincerity  upon  her  good  appear- 
ance: but  she  turned  my  congratulations  into  a 
laugh,  which,  however,  was  soon  followed  by  a 
sigh.  Her  husband  came  in  and  I  then  found 
out  that  she  was  laboring  under  a  strong  presenti- 
ment of  death  ;  she  imagined  that  she  would  not 
survive  her  trial.  To  this  is  added  another 
terror;  she  is  afraid  she  may  have  twins.  Not 
long  since  it  seems  she  read  of  a  case  of  triplets, 
and  that  possibility  is  haunting  her  also. 

I  have  one  more  grand  lurch  to  make  from 
Eome  before  I  can  think  of  turning  my  face 
towards  America:  I  must  pay  a  visit  to  Greece. 
Athens  is  my  objective  point;  I  think  daily  of 
the  fairest  bride  of  antiquity,  now  rather  old  but 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  359 

still  alive  there  on  the  Ilissus.     I,  too,  want  to  go 
into  her  presence  once  in  my  life,  and  behold  her, 
though  she  be  wrinkled  and  haggard.      If  I  ac- 
complish this  final  part  of  my  journey  with  suc- 
cess, I  can  truly  say  :   "Now  I  have  seen  the  day 
of  the  Lord."     After  that,  there  is  no  telling  with 
what  rapidity  I  shall  return  home,  for  I  shall  re- 
gard mv    chief  task  as  done.     Nor  shall  I  feel 
like  delaying  in  Northern  Europe,  lest  I    may 
have  all  the  Attic  honey  brushed  off  my  thighs 
in  its  fog  and  underbrush.  I  am  now  busy  study- 
ing modern  Greek;  is  it  possible  that  I  shall  ever 
compel  these  words,  nearly  all  of  them  old  Hel- 
lenic, to  order  me  a  dinner?  or  shall  I  ever  be 
able  to  make  love  in  them  —  the  hardest  test  of  a 
lano-uage?     Somehow  or  other  the  Greek  tongue 
has  about  it  the  aroma  of  eternal  youth ;   it  was 
spoken  in  the  youth  of   the  world,  after  infancy 
yet  before  manhood;    the    Greek  people    were 
youths,  as   long  as  they  were  a  people;    Greece 
opens  with  the  heroic  youth  of  fable — Achilles, 
and  ends  with  the  heroic  youth  of  history — Alex- 
ander   (so    says   Hegel,  you  know).     Then  we 
study  the  language  in  our  youth  ;  to  me  it  recalls 
school-days,   youthful  aspiration,  the  period  of 
young  undeceived  Hope.     Of  course  I  am  going 
to  that  land  of  promise,  to  me  now  more  of  a 
Holy  Land  than  Palestine,  I  am  afraid. 

I    have  just  retui'ned  from    Piazza    Colonna, 
where  the  Post  Office  is  situated,  with  your  letter. 


360  BOME  II. 

which  has  thus  come  to  hand.  In  this  Piazza  or 
Public  Square  Kome  is  celebrating  to-night  the 
anniversary  of  its  liberation  from  the  Pope's 
authority.  The  place  is  jammed  with  many  peo- 
ple, who  cheer  and  shout  and  clap  in  order  to 
rid  themselves  of  their  superabundant  patriotism. 
The  best  thing  of  the  evening  was  a  chorus  for 
male  voices,  rendered  with  a  color  and  spirit  and 
at  the  same  time  harmony,  that  placed  it  above 
any  male  chorus  that  I  ever  heard.  As  I  lis- 
tened to  it  in  the  seething  multitude,  it  seemed 
impossible  for  music  to  chime  into  and  control  so 
many  diverse  sounds.  Yet  it  did  most  success- 
fully ;  the  chorus  seemed  to  attune  and  absorb 
into  itself  the  murmurs  and  noises  of  the  popu- 
lace, so  that  they  added  to  the  vigor  and  depth 
of  the  music.  After  all,  the  -Italians  are  natur- 
ally the  most  artistic  people,  and  the  most  sus- 
ceptible to  the  influences  of  Art.  Music  here 
appeared  not  merely  to  tame  the  elements  but  to 
incorporate  and  to  assimulate  their  power  into 
itself.  I  noticed  that  a  number  of  palaces  were 
not  illuminated;  their  owners  probably  sympa- 
thized with  the  Pope.  The  Vatican  I  did  not 
see,  but  it  was  reported  to  be  dark,  darker  than 
usual — which  many  people  think  is  pretty  dark. 
I  was  reminded  of  the  festivities  in  St.  Louis  at 
the  close  of  the  Civil  War,  when  the  incorrigible 
rebels  in  many  houses  still  refused  to  hang  out 
the  flag. 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  361 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive  of  the 
hatred  existin??  between  the  clerical  and  national 
parties  here  in  Italy.  The  priests  are  really 
despised  and  often  insulted  in  the  streets,  to  my 
strong  disapi)rol)ation,  I  must  say.  In  the 
Corso,  the  great  thoroughfare  of  Rome,  I  saw  a 
line  of  students  for  the  priesthood  who  were 
marching  quietly  along,  hooted  at  and  called 
vagabonds.  This  is  to  me  a  violation  of  the 
right  of  personal  liberty.  "But"  said  a  well- 
edutfated  young  lawyer  to  me,  "they  are  the 
enemies  of  Italy,  therefore  my  enemies."  I 
answered,  "yes,  still  you  must  not  destroy  your 
freedom  in  maintaining  it."  He  replied:  "but 
the  clergy  are  employing  the  present  freedom  of 
speech  and  opinion  in  Italy,  to  destroy  it." 
"Well,  let  them,  if  they  can;  but  don't  you  de- 
stroy it;  for  it  seems  to  be  a  struggle  between 
you  both  which  one  shall  get  the  first  chance." 
For  my  part  I  talk  to  the  priests  and  monks  on  the 
railroad  and  elsewhere  at  every  opportunity. 
Sometimes  I  find  them  ignorant  beyond  belief, 
yet  always  honest  and  simple-hearted — that  is, 
when  they  are  ignorant.  Near  Ferrara  several 
monks  entered  the  car  where  I  was ;  I  began  a 
conversation  with  two  of  them — I  told  them  that 
I  came  from  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi — where 
that  river  was,  they  did  not  know.  They  had 
heard  o-f  America,  but  of  its  distance  from  Italy 
they  had  no  conception.   Even  of  Rome,  whither 


362  BOME  11. 

I  told  them  I    w:is  going,  their  ideas  were  not 
very  perspicuous. 

Borne,  8ej)t.  22nd,  1878. 

I  recollect  of  hinting  to  you  in  a  letter  from 
Wiesbaden  that  I  believe  I  have  gotten  hold  of  a 
poetic  form  in  which  I  may  be  able  to  express 
this  classic  world  of  art  and  its  significance  for 
me  in  my  present  state  of  mind.  I  go  among 
the  people  of  statues  assembled  in  the  galleries 
of  this  city,  and  listen  to  their  utterance,  when 
many  a  scene  and  expression  rise  vividly  before 
me. 

Stones  with  voices,  columns  with  music,  temples 
with  language, 
Open   your   lips  once  more   speake   me  your 
spirit's  still  word! 
Threading   your  ancient   piles,  I    always    come 
back  to  the  modern, 
Hunting  for  aught  far   away,  I  have  discov- 
ered myself. 

Such  a  self-discovery  one  must  make  at  Rome 
if  he  discovers  anything.  I  confess  to  you  that 
the  trial  and  development  of  the  before- 
mentioned  poetic  form  is  what  occupies  the  most 
and  the  best  of  my  hours  at  Eome  during  this  new 
stay  so  far.  The  antique  shapes  of  marble 
which  I  before  sought  to  i)enetrate  with  thinking, 
I  marshal  now  into  some  sort  action  and  make 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  363 

them  speak  with  mortals  and  moderns.  Can  I 
even  remotely,  re[)roduce  the  faith  and  life 
which  lie  behind  and  create  this  art-world, 
anciently  so  universal,  and  cause  it  to  sing  a 
little?  The  measure  I  have  found,  and  have 
sent  you  several  specimens. 

The  name  of  this  kind  of  poetry  in  English 
gives  me  some  trouble.  The  meter  was  invented 
and  employed  by  the  old  Greeks  foF  a  variety  of 
poetic  themes  and  called  elegiac.  The  name  and 
thing  passed  to  the  Roman  poets,  who  used  this 
verse  chiefly  for  amatory  subjects.  From  the 
latter  it  came  into  modern  German  poetry 
and  found  its  culmination  in  Goethe, 
who  calls  his  chief  pieces  in  this  style  Elegies, 
which  are  certainly  keyed  to  the  opposite  of  a 
mournful  strain.  Now  it  so  happens  that  we 
have  elegies  in  English,  but  almost  no  elegiacs, 
the  meter  havintj  never  been  naturalized  in  our 
literature.  Gray's  famous  poem  has  coupled 
the  name  of  elegy  with  the  pensive  melancholy 
mood,  very  different  from  its  classic  and  Ger- 
man character.  Then  the  Elegy  in  a  Country 
Church-yard  is  not  written  in  the  elegiac  meas- 
ure at  all,  but  in  the  tyrannical  Iambic  penta- 
meter, used  to  satiety  so  often  in  the  rhymed 
couplets  and  quatrains  as  well  as  in  tl>e  blank- 
verse  of  English  poetry.  Its  rhythmic  monotomy 
has  made  me  desperate  and  I  am  tr}ing  to  break 
it  up,  for  my  little  self  at  least,    by  introducing 


364  ROME  II. 

classic  measures.  I  have  even  tried  some 
Horatian  meters  here  at  Rome,  making  the 
refractory  English  outwardly  keep  step  to  the 
Latin. 

So  you  must  understand  me  when  I  say  that  I 
am  in  an  elegiac  mood ;  I  do  not  mean  that  I  am 
melancholy,  rather  the  reverse.  The  classical 
serenity  finds  its  best  utterance,  according  to  my 
judgment,  in  the  rhythmical  flow  of  the  elegiac 
distich.  I  am  not  brooding  after  the  fashion  of 
the  well-known  couplet : 

Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest. 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

However  there  is  one  point  in  common :  I  am, 
like  Gray,  in  a  graveyard,  in  the  colossal  ceme- 
tery of  a  past  civilization,  and  everywhere  about 
me  I  see  its  ruins.  But  strangely  it  does  not 
make  me  sad,  because  even  in  death  the  old 
Greek  was  not  sad,  his  very  tombstone  and  coffin 
he  decorated  with  life  and  the  festal  dance. 
Here  again  Goethe  has  hit  the  mark  for  me  : 

Sarcophagen  und  TJrnen  verzierte  der  Heide  mit 
Leben, 
Faunen  tanzen  umher,  mit  der  Bacchantinnen 
Chor 
Machen  sie  bunte  Reihe. 

That  is  the  true  elegiac  mood  expressed  in  the 
elegiac  stanza,  reflecting  ancient  life  and  art,  as 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  365 

we  see  them  still  portrayed  on  the  old  monu- 
ments, which  are  themselves  decaying.  But  in 
spite  of  all  this  death  life  is  triumphant. 

So  uberwdltiget  Fiille  den    Tod;  und  die  Asche 
da  drinuen, 
Schei)it  im  stillen  Bezirh  noch  sick  den   Lehens 
zu  freuen. 

Yes,  even  the  human  ashes  still  seem  to  rejoice 
in  life.  And  so  "  the  old  heathen  of  Weimar  " 
begs  that  his  sarcophagus,  too,  be  engarlanded 
with  his  elegiac  verses  celebrating  the  joy  of 
livinsr.  Now  that  is  the  genuine  elegiac  mood 
even  in  this  vast  sepulcre  of  antiquity,  which  I 
am  traversing,  attuned  to  a  different  key-note 
from  that  struck  in  the  most  repeated  line  of 
the  English  language : 

O  Do 

The  curfew  tolls,  the  knell  of  parting  day. 


Rome,  Sept.  23,  1878. 

I  have  just  received  your  last  letter  in  which 
you  express  a  desire  to  have  some  news  from  me 
at  a  shorter  interval  than  previously;  here  is  the 
fulfillment  of  your  wish,  I  hope.  Do  not  be 
surprised  at  this  scribble,  beginning  nowhere 
and  going  everywhere;  circumstances  control  my 
pen  if  not  me.  You  cannot  imagine  the  pleas- 
ure that  I  feel  in  dwelling  once  more  in  the 
shadow   of  St.  Peter's;  and  if  I,  a  heretic,  pos- 


S66  BOME  II. 

sibly  a  heathen,  have  such  emotious,  what  must 
be,  the  ecstasy  of  the  true  believer?  I  hope  you 
will  not  consider  it  wickedness  or  aifectation 
that  I  am  inclined  at  present  to  deem  myself  a 
heathen ;  I  mean  only  that  I  live  in  antiquity 
and  have  not  yet  got  down  to  the  Birth  of 
Christ.  Indeed  I  seem  to  be  goino;  backwards 
further  and  further  in  those  hoary  epochs ;  my 
trip  to  Germany,  very  pleasant  in  its  friend- 
ships, gave  me  a  tremendous  disgust  as  regards 
the  modern  political  fabric,  and  also,  to  a  certain 
extent,  as  regards  the  modern  intellectual  ten- 
dencies. I  swore  to  myself:  No  more  of  the 
latest  news,  no  more  of  recent  publications,  no 
more  newspapers,  chiefly  devoted  to  noting  the 
infinitesimal  gyrations  of  the  diplomatic  weather- 
cock of  Europe,  the  most  capricious  bird  since 
time  began,  hourly  flopping  around  all  the  points 
of  the  compass ;  anathema,  if  I  watch  him  any 
longer.  No  more  new  editions,  no  more  new 
books  of  any  kind ;  I  am  resolved,  when  I  am  well 
settled  again  under  Roman  skies,  to  read  no  book 
which  is  not  2,000  years  old  at  least.  Further- 
more I  pledge  the  Olympians,  if  they  be  pro- 
pitious to  my  hopes,  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to 
their  most  ancient  noble  shrine  —  Athens,  to  me 
now  the  holiest  spot  on  earth. 

If  you  wish  to  know  about  Bologna,  I  would 
say  that  in  some  respects  it  makes  the  best  im- 
pression of  any  Italian  city  that  I  have  yet  seen. 


A  TOUR  7iV  EUROPE.  367 

There  is  less  beggary,  poverty  and  wreicnedness ; 
everybody  too,  seeuis  to  have  something  to  do; 
commerce  is  very  active,  and  the  intellectual 
energy  keeps  pace  with  material  progress.  In 
other  words  it  is  a  flourishing  Italian  city,  which 
is  a  rarity;  it  reminds  me  of  an  American  city. 
Then  too  it  is  clean,  very  clean;  people  and 
houses  are  not  in  a  state  of  dingy  interesting 
ruin ;  it  is  a  refreshing  wonder  placed  between 
those  two  beautiful  piles  of  decadence, Venice  and 
Florence.  What  pleases  me  particularly  is  the 
system  of  arcades  extending  over  the  side- walks 
through  the  entire  city  and  protecting  the  busy 
people  from  sun  and  rain.  Business  thus  goes 
on,  being  wholly  indej)endent  of  the  capricious 
weather-god.  It  rained  while  I  was  there  but 
nobody  seemed  to  know  anything  about  it.  No 
other  city  in  the  world  as  far  as  I  know,  has 
adopted  such  a  system ;  there  it  has  been  in 
votyue  api)arently  for  centuries,  and  still  it  has 
been  kept  up  in  the  new  structures.  I  must  say 
that  it  is  the  best  solution  of  a  grave  problem 
for  all  Southern  cities  ;  much  better  it  is  than  to 
make  the  streets  so  narrow  as  in  Rome  and  else- 
where. Think  of  St.  Louis  having  covered  ar- 
cades for  the  side-walks  on  Fourth  street  only, 
not  to  speak  of  the  entire  city,  instead  of  the 
wretched  awnings  which  the  shop-keeper  uses  as 
a  temporary  and    wholly    inadequate  protection 


368  EOME  II. 

against  sun    and  storm.     Adopt  it,   thou  hard- 
headed,  practical  American. 

I  wrote  this  letter  backwards,  and  in  order  to 
understand  it  you  must  read  it  in  that  way.  I 
have  now  been  in  Rome  over  a  week,  very  busy 
in  writing  letters  and  studying  modern  Greek.  I 
have  barely  begun  to  look  at  the  monuments 
with  care  for  the  second  time,  I  am  a  little  cu- 
rious to  hear  what  they  will  say  now,  and  to  dis- 
cover whether  I  understand  their  language  better 
than  before. 

I  suppose  that  you  are  now  busily  engaged  in 
the  old  routine  after  a  summer's  repose.  How 
does  the  Hiojh  School  besfin?  What  is  the  true 
inwardness  of  its  condition  anyhow?  I  have 
received  the  School  Report ;  there  must  be  some 
enemies  where  there  is  so  much  cannonading. 

In  regard  to  Mrs. ,  who  is  coming  to  Rome 

you  say,  I  am  but  slightly  acquainted  with  her, 
and  of  course  shall  not  disturb  the  pleasure  of 
her  Roman  visit  by  any  attentions  of  mine,  un- 
less at  her  own  request. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  i569 


Rome,  Sept.  30th,  1878. 

I  have  just  returned  from  a  trip  on  foot  among 
the  Alban  Hills,  in  which  I  sought  to  get  a  few 
draughts  from  the  bosom  of  good  mother 
Nature.  It  is  here  the  turning  point  of  autumn, 
the  leaves  are  just  beginning  to  change  color, 
and  a  stray  one  sometimes  falls,  but  this  is  a 
premature  death.  The  chestnut  trees  are  loaded 
with  their  peculiar  fruit,  and  low  down  the 
mountain  some  of  the  burs  are  beginning  to  crack 
and  the  brown  nuts  take  a  sly  peep  out  of  their 
prickly  nest.  I  pass  under  one  of  these  trees, 
find  a  good-sized  club  and  fling  it  up  at  an  open 
burr,  the  prize  falls  to  the  ground,  and  I  am  not 
slow  to  test  its  excellence.  But  the  Italian 
chestnut  is  not  as  good  as  the  American  chest- 
nut, though  much  larger;  it  is  coarser  in  grain 
and  flavor.  Still  the  abundance  of  the  yield  is 
astonishing;  evervwhere  down  the  sides  of 
the  mountains,  in  all  uncultivated  places  these 
chestnut  saplings  shoot  up,  for  they  are  not 
large  forest  trees.  Under  their  shade  yesterday 
I  wandered  many  a  mile;  they  became  at  last 
friends  whose  kindly  protection  was  never  looked 
for  in  vain. 

The  vineyards,  for  which  this  part  of  the 
country  is  famous,  are  now  closed  to  keep  out 
thieves  and  intruders.     The  grapes    are  mostly 

24 


370  BOME  II. 

ripe  aud  in  a  week  or  two  the  vintage  begins. 
Still  I  succeeded  in  getting  into  a  vineyard  where 
I  took  great  delight  in  observing  this  branch  of 
industry,  as  here  it  has  a  peculiar  phase.  I  had 
a  taste  of  the  grapes  fresh  from  the  vines,  out 
of  which  the  famous  Frascati  wine  is  made. 
Passing  through  a  patch  of  woods  I  suddenly 
came  upon  a  vineyard  without  the  necessity  of 
leaping  over  a  high  wall  or  a  hedge-fence.  Not 
without  the  danger  of  a  little  personal  inconven- 
ience was  my  adventure.  I  strolled  out  of  the 
vineyard  into  a  lane  where  I  met  a  peasant  and 
inquired  of  him  the  nearest  way  to  the  next  vil- 
lage. Says  he:  "There  is  a  private  road  through 
this  vineyard,  but  you  had  better  go  round  by 
the  highway,  for  if  you  are  seen  here,  you  may 
get  a  bastonading."  Then  looking  at  me  from 
head  to  foot  he  continued:  "No,  1  do  not  think 
they  would  whip  you.''  But  I  preferred  not  to 
take  the  risk  and  struck  for  the  main  road.  The 
peasants  seem  to  be  much  annoyed  by  the  petty 
thievery  of  boys  aud  others — the  truth  is,  I 
really  deserved  the  castigation,  for  I  had  plucked 
two  fine  bunches  of  grapes.  When  the  vintage 
arrives,  I  am  going  to  see  the  process,  if  possi- 
ble ;  connected  with  it  are  many  curious  customs 
and  no  little  poetry. 

So  after  considerable  wandering  I  come  to  a 
curious  old  town  called  liocca  di  Papa.,  or  Rock 
of  the  Pope,  named,  it  is  is  said,    from   having 


A  TO  UR  IN  E  UR OPE.  37 1 

been  a  fortress  of  the  Popes  in  early  times. 
Tedious  is  the  winding  ascent,  on  foot  at  least, 
and  there  is  a  pretty  hot  fall  sun.  Strangely  de- 
ceptive too  is  the  approach ;  you  look  up  at  the 
town  nestled  in  the  rocks,  it  seems  almost  as  if 
you  could  reach  out  your  hand  and  touch  it ; 
still  you  go  on  and  on  and  on,  but  it  never  grows 
nearer,  till  at  last  you  begin  to  think  that  the 
whole  town  is  a  mirage  lying  along  the  top  of 
the  mountain.  But  at  last  you  do  arrive,  entering 
one  of  the  alleys,  as  you  think,  so  you  try  to  get 
into  a  street,  which,  when  found,  is  worse  than 
the  alley.  On  the  whole,  this  is  the  most  primi- 
tive town  that  I  have  ever  been  in.  The  people 
here  lead  a  life  of  Nature  indeed ;  mules, 
chickens,  cows,  and  swine  live  on  the  most 
friendly  and  intimate  terms  with  the  human 
species ;  there  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  democratic 
equality  among  all  animals,  man  included.  As 
the  face  of  the  stranger  enters  one  of  these 
alleys,  the  whole  brood  comprising  the  young  of 
the  population,  namely  calves,  pups,  kittens, 
pigs  and  children  rise  from  their  play  and  run 
like  the  young  of  wild  animals,  each  to  his  own 
dark  hole  where  they  disappear.  I  shall  not  soon 
forget  the  scamper  at  my  api)earance,  a  little 
two-legged  creature  leading  the  panic-stricken 
herd.  The  streets  are  filthy  beyond  descrip- 
tion, making  virulent  assaults  upon  all  the  five 
senses  at  once.     Oh  for  the  mud  of    an  Illinois 


372  HOME. 

town ,  where  at  least  the  nose  is  spared  from  cruel 
persecution!  Passing  through  the  place  to  the- 
other  side,  I  saw  some  hogs  wallowing  in 
the  mire  ;  it  was  a  refreshing  sight;  indeed  I  take 
it  that  they  had  come  out  of  the  town  to  get  a 
decent  place  to  live'  in.  Yet  mark !  I  hav/e  to 
eat  in  that  town;  it  is  long  aftcF  dinner-time,  I 
have  traveled  on  foot  since  early  morning  with- 
out food — I  am  ravenous.  So  I  find  one  pretty 
fair  street  in  which  there  is  a  tavern.  I  shall 
not  describe  any  further  —  but  I  did  eat,  eat 
heartily,  washing  down  morsels  with  wine.  Now 
I  consider  my  internal  arrangements  to  be  copper- 
lined,  through  and  through,  beginning  with  the 
nostrils. 

The  most  pleasing  sight  in  the  town  is  an  old 
temple,  now  turned  into  a  church,  but  it  still  has 
its  Doric  frieze,  as  if  to  remind  the  beholder  of 
what  it  once  was.  But  really  the  town  carries 
the  mind  back  still  further;  I  can  not  help 
thinking  that  this  was  one  of  the  ancient  Latin 
villages  existing  long  before  Rome,  and  perched 
upon  these  heights  for  safety.  Here  are  people 
who  have  never  left  their  native  village,  as  I 
found  by  a  little  conversation ;  doubtless  their 
ancestors  never  left  their  native  village ;  you  can 
behold  the  direct  descendants  of  the  men  who 
talked  with  Romulus  and  Remus.  The  air  of 
perdurable  antiquity  rests  over  everything.  The 
people    live    a    granite  life,  unchanged  and  uu- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUEOPE.  373 

chansreable  by  the  modern  world.  When  I  went 
out  of  the  town  and  viewed  it  from  an  adjoining 
height,  it  seemed  to  grow  out  of  the  rock,  some 
of  the  houses  are  indeed  hewn  out  of  the  living 
stone  if  my  eyes  did  not  deceive  me.  Where  the 
rock  passes  into  the  house  built  out  of  it  and 
upon  it,  nobody  can  tell,  the  transition  is  so 
gradual.  Man  is  thus  seen  springing  from  the 
earth,  his  primitive  mother,  and  his  habitation 
is  seen  srowing  out  of  the  rock  whose  caves  were 
his  primitive  dwelling.  A  sort  of  a  stone  axe, 
still  used  for  some  purpose  which  I  do  not  know, 
makes  me  believe  that  these  people  yet  belong  to 
the  stone  age.  But  one  thing  must  be  praised: 
the  wine — under  whose  influence  I  am  not  writ- 
ing this  letter.  But  it  did  strike  a  delightful 
chord  in  me,  one  which  no  other  drink  ever  quite 
reached — in  fact  I  did  not  know  before  that  I 
had  any  such  chord  in  my  body  or  soul. 

But  the  main  objective  point  of  my  trip  is  not 
yet  reached— which  is  to  ascend  to  the  summit 
of  Monte  Cavo  where  stood  an  ancient  temple  of 
Jupiter,  to  which  the  Roman  generals  ascended 
after  obtaining  the  honors  of  a  triumph.  I  am 
eoins:  to  follow  in  their  path  without  the 
triumph.  The  view  from  the  top  I  recollect 
from  last  spring  when  I  was  there :  it  is  on  the 
whole  the  most  satisfactory  and  healing  of  all  the 
views  that  I  know  of.  Here  come  a  gentleman 
and  five  ladies  who  are   just  returning  from  the 


374:  BOME  II. 

summit ;  they  are  mouuted  on  mules  with  easy 
side-saddles  for  the  ladies;  the  young  people  are 
laughing,  chatting,  enjoying  the  sport  and  the 
romance,  but  there  is  one  olderwoman,  fat,  timid, 
with  face  as  red  as  fire  and  perspiring  in  streams; 
for  her  the  trip  is  torture,  as  she  comes  down  the 
steep  side  of  the  mountain,  leaning  rather  than 
sitting  on  her  mule.  A  little  further  on  is 
a  country  woman,  also  mounted  and  going  to 
town;  she  has  a  much  more  independent  look, 
and  is,  I  dare  say,  far  more  firm  in  her  seat,  for 
she  rides  a-straddle.  This  peculiar  new  style  of 
ladies'  horsemanship  I  have  seen  only  in  Italy, 
here  quite  frequently.  At  first  it  excited  great 
curiosity  in  me,  and  I  looked,  rather  immodestly 
I  confess,  to  see  how  the  matter  could  be  man- 
aged in  female  costume.  I  can  only  report,  very 
skillfully  and  properly,  but  somewhat  oddly. 
Now  I  come  into  the  old  Roman  road,  built  of 
huge  flat  stones,  still  as  perfect  as  on  the  day  of 
its  construction,  except  where  the  rain-storms  of 
two  thousand  years  have  undermined  it  in 
patches. 

On  the  summit  is  now  a  monastery,  built  of 
the  ruins  of  the  ancient  temple  by  Cardinal 
Yorke,  the  last  of  the  royal  Stuarts,  an  act  of 
Christian  vandalism  perpetrated  as  late  as  the  last 
century.  It  is  indeed  a  place  to  worship  from, 
I  could  have,  joined  those  old  heathens  in  their 
devotions.     The  air  is  more  invigorating,  the  eye 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  375 

broadens  out  into  immensity,  if  not  quite  into 
eternity,  the  heavens  become  clearer,  more  open, 
and  you  would  say,  more  accessible.  There  is  a 
natural  religion  in  the  spot,  which,  however,  is 
to  my  mind,  disturbed  by  the  presence  of  these 
monastic  black-robed  shadows  who  are  now  tak- 
ing a  walk  after  vespers — shadows  in  this  other- 
wise perfectly  clear  light ;  often  they  do  not  wor- 
ship God,  but  an  earthly  thing  called  the  Church. 
In  one  direction  is  the  Mediterranean,  lying 
calmly  in  the  sun  and  laughing  with  a  thousand- 
fold sparkle,  which  you  can  just  see  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  atthe  foot  of  mountain  are  two  small  lakes, 
Nemi  and  Albano,  not  far  apart — both  blue- 
eyed,  very  blue-eyed,  and  looking  up,  like  a 
Madonna  in  prayer,  I  should  say,  into  the  skies. 
But  in  the  opposite  direction  are  the  mountains, 
chalky  and  gray;  as  they  ascend  toward  Heaven, 
they  gradually  whiten  and  rarify  themselves  into 
clouch.  So  ancient  life  tipped  itself  off  with  the 
Ideal.  Scattered  along  the  valleys  and  hillsides 
are  the  villages  looking  white — they  seem  like 
marble  colonnades  of  ancient  Halls  and  Temples. 
Then  those  mountains,  rude,  irregular,  with 
many  ups  and  downs,  but  always  sunny,  defi- 
antly sunny — they  are  indeed  a  classic  tale.  But 
why  shall  I  undertake  to  describe  Nature  to  you 
when  everybody  knows  that  the  so-called  descrip- 
tions of  scenery  are  the  dullest,  emptiest,  most 
insuperable  reading  extant;   who  does  not  skip 


87G  HOME  II. 

them  in  a  novel  of  which  they  are  merely  the 
padding?  But  let  me  add  one  word  more :  Yon- 
der by  the  Tiber  lies  Rome — what  was  in  that 
little  hamlet  which  gave  to  it  the  power  to  absorb 
the  whole  world,  first  politically,  then  religiously 
— what  could  it  be,  what  could  it  be? 


Borne,  Oct.  1st,  1878. 

I  shall  tell  you  by  an  instance  how  I  am  using 
every  little  incident  which  turns  up  for  the  pur- 
pose of  furthering  my  main  design.  I  was  talk- 
incr  to  a  young  lady  visiting  my  hostess  about 
the  Roman  Galleries  of  Sculpture  and  their  con- 
tents, of  which  she  knew,  though  born  here, 
very  little,  except  that  they  contained  heathen 
Gods.  She  was  a  good  Catholic  of  course,  and 
naively  asked  me,  if  the  people  of  my  country 
beheved  in  such  deities.  Something  put  it  into 
my  head  to  say,  I  do.  She  was  a  little  shocked, 
for  she  had  heard  that  the  Pope  had  once  taken 
them  all  prisoners  in  war,  and  had  changed  them 
into  stones.  "Do  you  say  mass  there?"  she 
asked.  "  Would  you  like  to  go  and  see?"  was 
my  answer.  She  reflected  a  moment  and  con- 
cluded that  she  might  if  she  could  take  her 
rosary  along  "in  order  to  put  the  Devil  to 
flight"  {  per  fare  scappare  il  Diavolo).  I  re- 
plied: "  Perhaps  it  will  put  me  to  flight."  She 
innocently  responded  that  she  did  not  think  it 


A  TOUB  INEUBOPE.  377 

would  hui-t  me.  "  Very  well,  then,  I  think  we 
shiill  bo  able  to  get  through,  if  you  will  be  sure 
to  keep  the  old  Sinner  off."  At  these  words 
of  mine  she  professed  her  al)ilitj  to  make  the 
whole  cohort  of  demons  take  to  their  heels  by  a 
single  act:  whereat  in  very  animated  gestures 
she  drew  a  full  cross  upon  herself  from  head  to 
foot,  and  struck  an  attitude  of  downright  com- 
bat against  the  iufennal  hosts.  "  That  will  do," 
I  cried,  "  you  can  protect  us."  So  off  we 
started  for  the  Vatican  Museum,  which  is  a  kind 
of  Homeric  assembly  of  all  the  Greek  Gods.  I 
pointed  out  Zeus,  the  supreme  God,  she  turned 
up  her  nose  at  him,  and  at  the  other  Olympians; 
the  Apollo  Belvedere  did  not  have  his  hair  done 
up  aright ;  in  the  Laocoon  it  was  the  snakes  that 
caught  and  held  her  eye,  and  she  seemed  to 
glory  in  them  "  punishing  one  of  those  heathen 
Gods."  We  came  to  the  reclining  Ariadne, 
whose  story  I  told,  dwelling  on  her  unhappy  lot 
deserted  by  her  lover  Theseus.  This  drew  her 
interest;  she  looked  at  the  statue  again  and 
dvopped  a  sympathetic  sigh  ending  with  pover- 
etta.  Soon  she  turned  to  me  with  a  question : 
"  Tell  me,  did  these  Gods  and  Goddesses  love?  " 
"That  is  just  what  they  did,"  I  answered, 
"there  is  even  a  God  of  Love  —  and  here  he 
is."  We  stepped  a  few  paces  and  found  him, 
who  is  never  far  off. 

There    is    no    doubt  that  her    interest  in  the 


378  BO  ME  II. 

HeatheQ  Gods  increased  enormously  in  a  minute. 
She  was  tellinsf  on  herself,  I  thousfht  I  could 
read  a  little  bit  of  private  history  in  her  looks 
and  actions.  She  had  at  least  found  something 
which  she  had  never  possessed  before,  and  which 
filled  perchance  a  void  in  her  life,  for  "  our 
church  has  no  Love-God."  And  yet  she  recog- 
nized the  deity  then  and  there,  and  could  not 
help  herself,  as  it  probably  was  the  deepest  fact 
of  her  past  existence.  On  the  way  home  even 
more  pressingly  she  wanted  to  know  if  I  was  not 
"  a  follower  of  the  old  Gods,"  and  whether  I 
actually  did  not  believe  that  "  the  little  baby 
{bambino)  there  was  the  God  of  Love."  She 
thought  his  mother  ought  to  be  there,  near-by, 
and  then  he  might  pass  for  the  Christ-child 
with  the  Madonna.  And  so  the  Christian  and 
Heathen  images  be^an  dancinof  in  a  stransje 
medley  through  her  brain. 

But  the  chief  point  which  I  wish  to  tell  you 
is  that  in  my  own  brain  the  whole  occurrence 
began  turning  into  a  poem,  in  which  the  old 
Gods,  the  modern  Roman  girl  and  myself  were 
the  characters  of  a  little  drama  to  be  written  in 
elegiacs,  which  are  now  swallowing  every  other 
interest.  I  told  you  of  my  epigrammatic  mood 
when  I  was  here  before;  now  I  cannot  rest  till 
all  these  floating  shreds  organize  themselves  into 
something  like  a  poetic  whole  which  metamor- 
phoses the  old  into  the  new,  interweaving  and 


A  TOUR  /JV  EUROPE.  379 

reconciling    two    diverse    worlds    in    a    common 
harmony. 

If  the  thing  ever  gets  itself  into  possible  shape, 
I  shall  send  it  to  you,  who  have  always  listened 
so  patiently  to  my  various  lucubrations.  Some 
thirty  or  forty  lines  —  hexameters  and  penta- 
meters—  have  spun  themselves  out,  but  much 
remains  to  be  done,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  at 
present  how  much.  But  you  will  catch  from  this 
what  is  and  has  been  my  central  interest  during 
this  second  residence  at  Eome.  [Editorial  jSfote 
The  poem  remained  a  long  time  unfinished  and 
unfinishable,  not  less  than  thirteen  or  fourteen 
years,  meanwhile  going  through  many  hammer- 
ings and  additions  and  attempts  at  improvement. 
It  grew  gradually  to  182  lines,  and  it  first  saw 
the  light  in  1892,  being  printed  in  the  book  called 
Prorsus  Relrorsus  pp.  32-45,  which  book  con- 
tains the  Roman  poems,  or  Elegies  previously 
alluded  to  ] . 

Rome,  Oct.  6th,  1878. 

I  am  much  obliged  for  your  very  full  and  ex. 
cellent  letter,  it  removes  as  much  of  my  anxiety 
as  can  be  removed  by  any  process.  Since  your 
letter  arrived  I  have  received  additional  particu- 
lars concerning  the  little  girl ;  it  seems  that  she 
has  had  an  unusually  healthy  and  happy 
summer.  Also  that  all  the  friends  have  hitherto 
escaped  the  plagues  of    heaven  which  have  re- 


380  BOME  II. 

cently  been  sent  upon  the  West.  Now  I  feel 
very  much  rejoiced,  and  no  note  of  discord  enters 
my  orchestra  of  happiness  to  which  I  am  listen- 
ing  under  these  Italian  skies. 

The  truth  is  that  I  now  eujoy  Italy  and  Rome 
more  than  I  did  last  spring;  because,  I  suppose, 
that  I  am  more  capable  of  enjoyment.       I  have 
learned  much,  I  find,  much  that  I  cannot  tell  you 
of,  because  it  is  something  which  does  not  admit 
of  expression,  or  only  of  my  inadequate  expres- 
sion.     How  can  I  describe  to  you  the  sharpening 
of  my  vision  which  has  resulted  from  viewing  so 
many  great  works  of  art,  particularly  those  of 
the  ancients    who   at    least  had  eyes — whatever 
else  they  may  not  have  had.      Motives    which  I 
at  first  stumbled  over  lialf -blindly  or  without  see- 
ing at  all,  now  stand  out  with  the  clearness  of 
noonday;   attitudes,    gestures,  looks,  in  general 
form  begins    to    have    a    meaning    for    me.     I 
always  look  into   it  now  as  into  a  mirror  which 
reflects  the  whole  work ;  so  that  each  part  to  my 
eye  and  not  to   my  abstract  reflection,  begins  to 
have    significance    as    that    which    reveals   the 
totality.     This  vision  is    not  by  any  means  the 
mere  external  sense  of  sight,  for  the  latter  I  had 
before. 

The  great  object  is  to  look  at  these  works 
through  the  eyes  of  the  ancients  to  whom  they 
were  addressed,  and  for  whom  they  were  an  utter- 
ance— utterance  of   the  Highest  and  Noblest  as 


A  TOUR  IN'  EUROPE.  381 

well  as  of  the  Trivial  and  evea  of  the  Bestial. 
What  au  impulse  they  had  to  form  1  Like  the  bee, 
they  wrought  and  built,  putting  outside  of  them- 
selves that  which  lay  inside — here  is  its  expres- 
sion. Now,  to  reach  this  eye  of  theirs  and  still 
further  to  reach  the  formative  instinct  which  lay 
behind  the  same,  is  one  of  the  hardest  tasks  of 
the  modern  mind.  Something  has  gone  from  us; 
in  one  of  its  phases  at  least  we  have  lost  true 
vision.  A  slight  perusal  of  the  criticisms  on  the 
great  works  of  sculpture  will  show  how  cross-eyed, 
wall-eyed,  blear-eyed  even,  we  have  become,  look- 
incr  in  all  directions  save  the  riirhtone,  and  when 
happening  to  look  in  the  right  direction,  not  see- 
ing anything.  Learned  archeologists  who  have 
spent  all  their  lives  upon  these  subjects,  and  who 
ou«rht  to  arrive  at  a  faint  glimmer  of  vision, 
usually  see  the  worst,  even  if  their  historical 
labors  be  valuable.  All  is  outside,  trivial,  acci- 
dental, with  rare  exceptions;  you  are  made  to 
look  around,,  never  at  or  into  the  thing. 

I  believe  that  my  distrust  of  and  disgust  at 
mere  erudition  and  merely  erudite  men  have  in- 
creased since  my  stay  in  Europe.  You  know  that 
previously  they  were  not  small ;  I  found  from  my 
Shakespearian  expevieuce  how  great  a  part  of 
erudition  is  utterly  empty  and  worthless ;  indeed 
I  was  well  aware  that  often  it  was  very  harmful, 
on  account  of  its  making  people  believe  that  it 
was   the  supreme   and  only  thing  worthy  of  at- 


382  EOME  II. 

taiiimeat  or  having  any  real  esistence.  I  some- 
fimes  vvoaderwhat  the  world  is  going  to  do  with 
all  this  learned  lumber — will  burn  it  up,  I  sup- 
pose, in  some  grand  conflagration,  as  actually 
happened  to  the  old  erudition  massed  in  the 
Alexandrian  Library. 

But  I  do  not  intend  to  destroy  my  classical 
serenity  by  growing  petulant  over  the  follies  of 
the  learned  and  of  learning.  Enjoyment  was 
the  old  Greek  mood ;  what  you  cannot  enjoy, 
throw  aside.  This  artistic  enjoyment  does  not 
by  any  means  signify  mere  animal  pleasure,  it  is 
God  in  the  Senses,  the  Divine  in  the  Feelings. 
But  these  words  are  mere  abstractions  and  will 
persist  in  remaining  so,  until  language  becomes 
a  stone  from  which  the  sculptor  hews  a  form. 

To-day  is  Sunday,  and  I  took  a  long  walk  out 
of  the  Porta  Pia  to  one  of  the  earliest  Christian 
Basilicas  of  Rome  —  the  church  of  St.  Agnese. 
The  curiosity  about  it  is  that  nearly  the  whole 
structure  is  underground  and  you  descend  by  a 
long  stairs  into  the  aisle.  To  the  faithful  it  is 
a  sacred  spot  on  account  of  its  martyrology ;  for 
me  it  was  soul-stirring  chiefly  on  account  of  hav- 
ing many  beautiful  reminiscences  of  the  Pagan 
world.  The  columns  of  the  aisle  were  most  at- 
tractive, being  composed  of  different  colored 
marbles;  some  of  them  were  finished  with  a  love 
and  sympathy  in  the  smallest  detail ;  thus  even 
a  column  becomes  warm  with  feeling:.    These  col- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  383 

umas  doubtless  were  the  j)luii(lur  of  some  ancient 
teini)le — unci  were  tninsferrcd  to  this  church 
where  they  do  not  belong,  for  they  show  Pagan 
hands  and  Pagan  senses.  With  all  respect  for 
Christianity  and  the  good  which  it  has  done  the 
world,  one  begins  to  find  certain  limits  of  it 
here,  to  see  what  it  did  not  accomplish,  nay,  to 
feel  that  it  sometimes  destroj'ed  what  was  better 
than  itself.  I  tell  you,  its  asceticism  is  not  the 
solution  of  the  world-problem,  though  that  asceti- 
cism buried  antiquity  in  ruins.  These  joyous 
fluted  Corinthian  columns,  sighing  for  sunlight 
do  not  belong  in  this  dark  cell  of  the  monks,  ia 
this  catacomb  of  martyrs. 

I  contiued  my  walk  to  the  famous  Mons  Sacer 
where  the  plebeians  are  said  to  have  established 
themselves  when  they  seceded  from  the  patri- 
cians of  Rome.  It  is  no  mountain  at  all,  simply 
a  knoll  at  the  foot  of  which  flows  the  Tever- 
one :  it  was  selected  doubtless  because  of  some 
religious  sanctuary  there,  if  indeed  the  old  narra- 
tive be  not  a  fable.  But  if  it  be  a  fable,  it  is 
better  than  history ;  this  event  always  has  been 
and  still  is  a  type  of  the  organism  of  society, 
com})osed  of  classes  which  are  necessary  to  one 
another.  History  cannot  do  more  than  furnish 
in  its  occui'rences  such  enduring  types;  too 
often  it. fails  just  in  this. 

The  landscape  by  itself  repaid  all  the   trouble 
of  the  trip;  one  never  tires  of  looking  at  the  Su- 


384  BOME  II. 

biue  and  Albaii  Mountains  from  Rome  or  from 
the  Campagna.  The  clear  atmospheKe,  the  de- 
ception which  it  practices  of  phicing  objects 
miles  away  right  under  your  nose,  the  outlines  of 
the  hills,  the  repose  of  everything,  put  you  in  a 
mood  which  may  be  called  classical,  since  it  is 
similar  to  the  mood  of  classical  Poetry  and 
Sculpture.  So  intimately  are  Art  and  Nature 
connected  here ;  you  have  but  to  go  into  the 
fields  in  order  to  find  the  primitive  inspiration  of 
the  artist. 

But  there  is  a  remarkable  contrast  also,  a  dis- 
sonance it  may  be  called.  The  Italian  has  not 
the  repose  of  this  landscape,  not  the  pure  sense 
of  form  which  all  these  classical  surroundings  in- 
spire. He  is  intensely  emotional,  sentimental;  a 
chaos  of  formless,  or  extravagant  feelings.  I  have 
with  me  a  young  Italian  poet,  it  is  not  serene 
enjoyment  with  him  but  wild  ebullience  ;  he  utters 
the  very  frenzy  of  human  speech  in  his  admira- 
tion of  scenery,  and  then  bursts  to  go  farther, 
after  having  exhausted  the  subject.  He  is  full 
too  of  citations  from  modern  Italian  poets; 
nought  is  it  all  but  vague,  amorphous  struggling, 
often  with  Titanic  flashes  to  be  sure;  to  me  it 
is  the  chaotic  night  of  poetry,  or  rather  the  night- 
mare. Long  ago  the  rising  Olympians  under 
the  lead  of  Jupiter  flung  tlie  Titan  down  into 
Tartarus,  and  the  result  was  a  Grecian  world; 
but  here  they  are  again,  those  sooty  divinities, 


A  TOUR  JN  EUROPE.  •^«-» 

belchiiiij  forth  brimstone  odors  iind  thick  smoke 
into  classical  skies. 

However,  you  must  not  think  that  I  am  en- 
tirely devoid  of  modern  sympathies.  Outside  of 
the  Porta  Pia,  is  a  tablet  in  the  Roman  Wall 
which  contains  the  names  of  the  soldiers  who  fell 
near  the  spot  in  the  conflict  with  the  Papal  troops 
for  the  possession  of  the  Roman  capitol ;  seal- 
ing with  their  blood  (suggellando  col  sanrjae) 
their  love  of  country.  The  reading  of  this  list 
of  obscure  names  brought  strong  heart  throbs ; 
what  hero  has  ever  been  able  to  do  more  than 
give  his  life  for  his  principle?  Santa  Agnese 
yonder  with  her  crown  of  martyrdom  possesses 
no  such  power,  at  least  not  now ;  fatherland  in 
Italy  is  stirring  deeper  than  religion,  or  rather 
these  are  desperately  fighting  each  other — not  a 
happy  condition. 

My  study  of  modern  Greek  continues;  I  find 
it  difficult  for  the  ear  but  not  so  difficult  for  the 
tongrue.  I  have  a  teacher  who  teaches  all  the 
modern  and  ancient  languages,  a  veritable  poly- 
glot. He  wants  to  go  to  America,  but  what 
could  he  do  there  where  the  people  have  only  one 
tongue,  and  do  not  like  too  much  of  that?  He 
had  better  stay  in  this  Roman  Babel  where  all 
languages  are  in  use  and  abuse.  So  I  hinted  to 
him. 

In  about  a  week  it  is  my  intention  to  set  out 
for  Athens,    going  first  to  Naples,  as  it  is  said 

25 


386  ROME  11. 

that  Vesuvious  is  giving  signs  of  an  eruption.  I 
would  like  to  see  the  old  Titan  right  sick  and 
giving  some  of  his  heaviest  belches.  Of  course 
there  are  many  other  attractive  things  in  Naples 
and  its  neighborhood,  of  which  one  is  always 
hearing.  But  I  shall  not  stay  there  long,  for 
my  eagerness  to  reach  Athens,  the  Eastern  limit 
of  my  journey  is  growing  painful. 

When  I  first  came  to  Rome  about  the  middle 
of    September,    I    was  somewhat  afraid  of    the 
malarial  fever,  which  is  said  to  be  most  prevalent 
in  that  month.     But  I  have  found  the  city  very 
healthy  and  pleasant,  indeed  it  is  more  comfort- 
able than  Venice  at  this  season  of  the  year.  Cer- 
tainly my  health  has  never  been  better ;  the  only 
trouble  is, I  sometimes  work  too  long  with  the  brain 
without  sufficient  bodily  exercise ;  then  I  become 
a  little  nervous,  and  sleepless.     I  have  been  try- 
ing to  prepare  myself  for   the    Greek  trip,  by 
reading  some  Greek  authors,  and  by  reviewing 
my  studies  in  Art;  I  work  continuously,  but  not 
always  according  to  programme.     Last  week  I 
felt  an  intense  thirst  for  Pindar  which  had  to  be 
satisfied,  though  I  ought  to  have   been  studying 
Pausanias.     The  demon  will  control ;  perhaps  he 
knows  best,  so  I  let  him  run.  It  is  a  Greek  demon 
which   now  has  possession  of  me,  he  tunes  my 
feelings,    fills  my  thoughts,  creates  my    world, 
surrounding    me     with    the    very    air    which  I 
breathe.     If  I  would  tell  you  how  he  affects  me 


A  TOVIt  IN  EUROPE.  387 

at  times,  you  would  laugh  at  me.  I  worship  the 
Goddesses,  dance  aud  siug  with  the  Muses,  and 
woo  the  Graces. 

Rome,  Oct.  10th,  1878. 

I  hardly  know  when  I  have  felt  so  well  as  I 
do  now.  The  weather  is  delightful,  neither  too 
warm  nor  too  cold,  neither  too  wet  nor  too  dry. 
The  Roman  autumn,  if  this  be  a  specimen,  is 
truly  the  golden  crown  of  the  year,  not  merely 
on  account  of  its  harvests  and  fruits,  but  also 
for  the  delightful  color  which  it  infuses  into  the 
soul.  I  am  veritably  happy,  both  in  the  reality 
and  in  my  dreams,  except  that  a  troubled  vision 
sometimes  arises  up  from  across  the  Atlantic. 
The  dream  which  fills  not  a  few  of  my  waking 
hours  just  now  is  Greece. 

I  have  just  been  talking  with  a  man,  who  I 
think  would  please  you  in  particular ;  for  he  is 
above  all  things  the  self-sufficient  man,  uucon- 
quered  by  what  he  calls  the  comforts  of  life, 
free  of  the  law  of  demand  and  supply  which  has 
our  modern  world  by  the  throat,  a  man  who  has 
reduced  want  to  the  very  last  pinch  of  leanness ; 
yet  he  is  happy,  healthy,  serene  as  a  God  on 
Olympus.  I  mean,  he  lives  here  at  Rome,  in 
the  19th  century,  on  about  seven  cents  a  day  — 
the  hero  untamed  by  civilization.  Yet  he  is  not 
wild,  or  uncouth,  or  even    ill-dressed,  though  as 


388  ROME  11. 

he  tells  me,  he  eschews  underclothing,  and  wears 
no  stockings. 

He  is  a  German  from  Magdeburg,  about  fifty- 
five  years  of  age,  I  should  judge ;  his  wife  being 
dead  and  his  children  all  married,  he  concluded 
to  get  a  slight  glimpse  of  this  world,  before  he 
passed  into  the  next.  He  has  too  in  that  rough- 
haired  pate  of  his  an  idea:  this  idea  is  that  man 
through  excessive  needs  becomes  a  slave  and  that 
he  for  one  will  be  free.  With  the  pair  of  legs 
bestowed  on  him  by  Mother  Nature,  he  sets  out 
from  his  native  Magdeburg,  crosses  the  Alps, 
and  passing  through  the  cities  of  Northern  Italy, 
has  reached  Rome  without  having  ridden  a  mile 
on  the  railroad  or  employed  a  vehicle  of  any 
kind. 

He  has  been  in  Rome  several  months;  he 
stayed  all  summer  here  and  found  the  weather 
excellent.  He  has  seen  everything,  is  a  lover  of 
the  Fine  Arts  and  of  antiquities,  all  for  less  than 
half  a  lira  a-day,  paper  money.  Still  it  is  not 
penuriousness  which  actuates  him ;  he  could  earn 
money  here,  but  will  not — giving  instruction 
in  German  free.  Besides  he  hints  to  me  that  he 
is  well-off,  if  not  rich.  No,  he  is  determined  to 
prove  in  his  own  person  that  man  should  not  be 
the  victim  of  needs,  and  to  offer  in  his  own  ex- 
ample a  cure  of  social  wretchedness  and  individ- 
ual unhappiness. 

And    whom  do  you  think  to  be  his  great   pat- 


A  TOUB  IX  EUROPE.  389 

tern  —  the  light  by  which  he  sees  the  things  of 
of  this  universe?  Pvthao^oras  —  an  old  Greek 
Heathen,  living  more  than  hve  centuries  before 
the  birth  of  Jesus  Christ.  He  told  nie  that  he 
was  a  Pythagorean,  and  that  he  lived  by  the  pre- 
cepts of  that  okl  i)hih)sopiicr,  not  indulging  in 
meat  or  wine,  doing  his  )wn  cooking  and  wash- 
ing; he  is  a  physician  to  himself,  and  also  a 
ffreat  lover  of  music.  Ahvavs  the  self-sufficient 
man,  unenslaved  by  his  wants;  next  he  proposes 
to  go  on  foot  to  Naples,  then  to  Southern  Italy, 
the  home  of  Pythagoras.  Nay,  he  spoke  of 
visiting  Sicily  and  even  Athens,  but  the  difficulty 
was  he  would  have  to  ride,  since  he  could  not 
well  swim  the  distances. 

The  idea  which  he  has  in  that  shaggy  pate, 
still  drives  him  on ;  he  is  a  wanderer  in  search  of 
knowledge  also ;  he  will  realize  the  life  of  Pyth- 
agoras in  himself;  indeed  it  is  likely,  though  he 
did  not  tell  me  so,  that  he  believes  that  the 
ancient  philosopher  has  transmigrated  into  his 
body,  after  some  2,400  years,  there  at  Magde- 
burg. But  is  it  not  strange  that  the  old  Greek 
should  still  work  so  potent  a  spell,  that  in  these 
days  his  idea  should  actually  transmigrate  into  a 
soul  and  take  possesion  thereof?  This  is  the  true 
transmigration  of  souls,  unlimited  by  Space  or 
Time;  so  I  felt  like  greeting  the  heathen  sasre  in 
the  shaggy-haired  German  from  Mao^deburu:.  He 
is   not  a   Christian  but  a   Heathen;   Christ  was 


390  BOME  II. 

born  500  years  too  late  for  hiin.  What  impulse 
has  pushed  him  out  of  cold  foggy  North  Ger- 
many aud  guided  him  hither  into  these  sunny 
Greek  lands — what  impulse  but  the  desire  of 
hearing  the  music  of  the  spheres  in  that  part  of 
the  universe  where  it  originated,  and  where  it 
still  may  be  heard  most  melodiously  attuning  the 
spirit? 

I  confess,  I  feel  a  strong  sympathy  with  him 
in  several  ways.  1  like  the  idea  which  he  has  in 
his  head,  preaching  by  life  and  by  word  that 
man  must  have  dominion  over  needs  and  not 
needs  over  man.  Then  as  to  transmigration — 
shall  I  declare  it? — I  am  almost  disposed  to  think 
that  some  Greek  has  passed  into  me ;  I  coax  and 
caress  his  spirit  and  beg  him  to  be  at  home  within 
me.  I  tell  him  that  shortly  I  shall  visit  his 
fatherland,  that  he  with  my  eyes  shall  behold,  I 
hope,  all  the  ancient  glory  of  his  country,  that  I 
want  to  see  by  the  aid  of  his  vision  the  Gods  on 
Olympus,  and  the  Fauns  in  Arcadia,  and  above 
all  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  Graces  and  Muses. 

Don't  take  me  to  be  crazy  on  account  of  these 
rhapsodic"  utterances  of  mine;  I  am  simply 
enjoying  myself  in  a  sort  of  Hellenic  day-dream. 
Then  who  can  help  becoming  hilarious  in  this 
weather  and  amid  this  people?  Below  my  win- 
dow a  ragged  youth  goes  singing  and  springing; 
he  stops  to  sneeze,  sneezes  five  times  and  counts 
them  off — one,  tvvo,  three,  four,  five;  then  on 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  391 

he  goes  resuming  his  song.  Capricious  overflow 
of  spirits  murks  this  autumnal  season,  sometimes 
the  overflow  turns  in  the  wrong  direction.  For 
instance,  yesterday  I  saw  a  street-fight  in  the 
market  between  six  women,  venders  of  vegetables 
— fierce  hair-pulling  there  was  with  some  awk- 
waid  blows,  while  all  around  the  arena  were 
strown  potatoes,  tomatoes  and  grapes  from  their 
upset  baskets.  About  a  hundred  men  formed 
around  them  an  amphitheater  and  witnessed  the 
gladiatorial  combats  as  in  the  olden  time. 

I  have  just  been  studying  my  guide-books  for 
the  trip  to  Naples  and  perhaps  Sicily,  on  the  way 
to  Greece.  I  can  not  fix  all  the  points  as  yet,  so 
I  need  not  tell  you  anything  but  the  outline  just 
mentioned.  Fred  Allen,  it  seems,  has  given  up 
the  trip,  so  he  intimates  in  a  postal  card  written 
from  Geneva.  I  shall  of  course  go  on  alone, 
which  perhaps  is  the  best  way  for  me,  though  I 
often  like  a  companion.  Still  my  habits  are  so 
different  from  those  of  most  people — habits  both 
of  living  and  of  studying — that  I  am  a  little 
afraid  even  of  the  best  associate.  So  far  I  have 
traveled  entirely  alone,  with  pleasure  and  I  hope 
with  profit.  A  solitary  bird  I  am  anyhow,  seek- 
ing a  peculiar  \ney — which  when  I  have  in  my 
talons  I  shall  some  day  drop  down  upon  you  in 
Cincinnati. 

I  shall  add  another  mheet  to  what  I  have  al- 
ready written,  for  it  will  not  trouble  you  much, 


392  BOME  II. 

since  it  takes  much  more  time  to  write  than  to 
read.  I  have  been  expecting  a  letter  from  jou 
during  the  hist  few  days,  but  it  does  not  come, 
and  so  I  shall  send  this  one  away  without  hear- 
ing from  you.  Old  as  you  are  I  wish  you  were 
here  with  me  to  enjoy  some  of  these  things;  you 
would  still  be  my  best  companion.  But  you  had 
better  put  off  this  journey  at  present  till  the  next 
world,  when  you  can  make  it  unencumbered  with 
bao-sao'e,  even  with  flesh.  I  am  ghid  that  I  have 
made  my  trip  here  on  this  side  of  the  Beyond, 
as  I  am  uncertain  about  my  travels  in  the  Here- 
after. 

I  have  just  returned  from  a  morning  walk  on 
the  Pincio  which  is  the  eighth  hill  of  Rome, 
from  which  the  beholder  sees  the  eternal  city  in 
all  its  glory.  The  air  is  fresh  and  bracing;  you 
rest  in  the  shade  of  classical  trees,  the  ilex  and 
the  laurel ;  the  red  flowers  of  autumn  seem  to 
burn  with  a  modest  secret  passion.  Very  often 
you  meet  a  rosy-cheeked  English  girl,  beautiful 
for  her  blushes  far  more  than  for  her  grace  of 
person.  You  stand  above  the  mass  of  churches 
and  palaces  till  you  cast  your  eye  across  the 
Tiber, — there  in  the  distance  before  you  rises 
St.  Peter's,  the  grand  world-cathedral;  it  seems 
to  be  above  the  roofs  with  its  colossal  propor- 
tions; Rome  and  everything  else  including  your- 
self dwindle  beside  it.  Yet  it  is  not  haughty  or 
pretentious  in  its  grandeur,  I  should  say  it  in- 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  393 

spires  a  fiieiuUj,  sunny  feeling  in  the  soul. 
There  is  nothing  austere  or  dark  al>out  its  ap- 
pearance ;  indeed  it  laughs,  looking  downward 
toward  the  earth  rather  than  striving  upward 
toward  the  skies.  On  the  whole  you  can  best 
see  St.  Peter's  from  the  Pincio,  which  is  not  far 
from  a  mile  distant;  near  by  the  church  is  so 
huge  that  you  cannot  take  it  in,  you  lose  every 
criterion  of  comparison,  you  no  longer  compare  it 
with  a  building  but  with  the  universe.  Walking 
away  from  it  a  mile  and  getting  on  top  of  hill, 
you  begin  to  be  able  to  see  the  immense  structure 
and  to  place  it  alongside  of  other  edifices.  Still 
it  is  not  the  magnitude  of  it  which  delights  most 
in  viewing  it  from  the  Pincio,  but  its  good- 
natured  smile  as  it  looks  down  upon  its  neigh- 
bors. At  first  I  hardly  knew  what  to  do  with 
the  monster,  but  now  I  have  become  much  at- 
tached to  him,  knowing  how  to  take  him.  He 
stands  up  yonder  like  a  huge  Newfoundland  dog 
amid  a  litter  of  pups;  the  latter  scarcely  hide  his 
feet,  while  he  with  a  good-natured  look  regards 
their  puny  pretentious  barkings. 

I  have  now  passed  nearly  another  month  in 
Rome,  employed  not  so  much  in  seeing  as  in 
studying.  This  is  a  pity  but  cannot  be  helped. 
You  should  use  your  eyes  in  Rome,  for  nowhere 
else  in  the  world  can  they  be  invited  to  such  a 
banquet.     Still  I  had  to  make  some   preparation 


394  HOME  II. 

for  Greece,  and  I  have   only  done    what  I  would 
do  over  again  if  I  had  the  choice. 


'D" 


Borne,  Oct.  16th,  1878. 

Your  letter  has  made  such  a  happy  impression 
upon  me  that  I  feel  like  devoting  some  lines  toyou 
specially.  I  rejoice  exceedingly  at  your  recover- 
ing from  a  state  of  illness  and  despondency; 
your  letter  gives  every  indication  of  the  full  re- 
turn of  the  sun.  I  should  judge  that  you  are 
now  happy,  enjoying  something  like  a  classic 
serenity  of  mind.  Keep  it  as  the  divinest  of 
boons,  for  I  tell  you  many  people  travel  over  the 
whole  world  in  search  of  it  without  finding  it; 
the  nearest  most  Christians  come  to  its  attainment 
is  to  hope  for  it  in  the  next  world.  But  hope  is 
merely  the  shadow  of  realization;  happiness 
should  be  found  here  below,  if  even  hope  has 
any  meaning.  Those  happy  expressions  of  yours 
lie  in  my  memory  alongside  of  the  Tuscan  hills 
which  I  saw  not  long  ago;  they  will  be  a  part  of 
my  journey  here,  interwoven  among  many  other 
sunny  recollections  of  these  Italian  days. 

Doubtless  I  feel  the  stronger  sympathy  with 
the  bright  spirit  of  your  letter  because  I  was  sick 
myself  when  I  left  America,  sick,  not  so  much  in 
body  as  in  soul.  To  confess  the  matter  openly, 
the  world  refused  to  me  its  delight,  and  I  would 
much  ratlier  have  left  it  than  have   staved  in  it. 


A  TOUR  /Y  EUROPE.  395 

I  had  been  driven  out  of   the  Heaven  in  which  I 
once  dwelt,  not  on  account  of    any    Satanic   sin 
that  I  know  of — not  by  any  wrong  of    my  own, 
but   by  the  rude  hand  of  external    fate  smiting 
nie  without  cause.       I  could  not  see  through  my 
tears  the  justice  in  such  a  government  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  at  the  same  time  my  emotions  were  so 
broken  that  they  often  refused  all  control.    I  fre- 
quently woke  up  in  the  morning  with  such  a  weight 
resting  upon  my  soul  that  I  could  not  keep  myself 
from  tears;  and  if  waking  cost  so  much  pain,  my 
wish  was  to  sleep  forever.      The  Soul's  Journey, 
written  to  relieve   myself  of   these    feelings   by 
some  faint  utterance,  does  not  tell  half  the  story. 
At  last  the  time  came  and  the  circumstances  con- 
spired to  bring  about  this  new  and  health-giving 
journey  to  classic  lands.     It  too  is  a  Soul's  Jour- 
ney,   but  in  what  souse  I  have  not  time    to  tell 
you  now,  nor  do  I  think  I  could  tell  you  if  I  were 
to  try.    It  is  not  yet  terminated,  at  the  end  of  it 
there  will  be  time  enough  to  look  back.     But  s6 
much  I  may  say  of  myself  at  present :  I  never  have 
lived   in    a  happier  mood  than  during  this  last 
month  here  at  Konio.  I  feel  cured;  in  the  morn- 
ing I  rise  without  any    8i)iritual  qualms,  go  out 
into  the  fresh  air,  stroll  along  under  the  ilexes  of 
the    Pincio,  looking    at    the    sunshine    and    St. 
Peter's.    Indeed  I  am  often  up  in  time  to  seethe 
dav-of()d  raise    aloft  his  glorious  head  from  his 
couch  somewhere  behind  the  Sabine   mountains. 


396  BOME  II. 

and  start  on  his  heaven-attaining  journey.  Every- 
thing which  I  touch  in  this  happy  climate  sends 
out  a  healing  influence  upon  me — at  least  such  is 
my  fancy.  Just  now  too  I  am  drinking  huge 
potations  of  divine  nectar — the  hope  of  seeing 
Greece — to  rae  the  most  exhilirating;  of  all 
draughts.  I  talk  to  myself  in  modern  Greek, 
renting  a  room,  ordering  a  dinner,  bickering  with 
a  hack-driver,  doing  all  sorts  of  prosaic  modern 
things  in  alanguage  not  very  dissimilar  to  that 
of  Homer.  Then  I  cut  loose  from  grammar  and 
conversation  book,  and  start  to  playing  with  a 
Pindaric  ode.  I  hear  the  ancient  chant  accom- 
panied by  flute  and  lyre,  with  processions  and 
festivals  and  dances  of  beautiful  youths  in  the 
Public  Place — what  a  joyous  world  1 

1  do  not  expect  the  Greece  of  to-day  to  realize 
this  picture,  nor  on  the  other  hand  to  destroy 
it;  I  only  want  a  sniff  of  the  air,  a  look  at  the 
islands  of  the  sea,  together  with  some  views  of 
the  hills  and  springs,  to  find  out  whether  they 
actually  exist  or  not.  For  Greece  has  been  and 
still  is  the  ideal  world  of  our  European  culture ; 
it  is  hard  to  believe  that  there  is  anything  of  it 
but  poetry.  You  ask  me  when  I  am  going  to 
return  home;  how  can  I  tell?  You  see  that  my 
face  is  still  turned  toward  the  East;  wait  till  I 
wheel  around,  then  we  may  begin  to  calculate 
the  months  or  perhaps  the  days.  Now  I  can 
only  say,  I  must  first  behold  Greece  if  possible; 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  397 

she  is  a  coy  maidcu  who  will  by  iio  means  show 
herself  at  the  first  glance,  though  I  think  that  I 
have  had  some  glimpse  of  her  beauty  from  the 
distance.  How  long  it  will  be  before  she  will 
reveal  herself  or  whether  she  will  reveal  herself 
at  all,  are  problems  beyond  my  power  of  compu- 
tation. I  am  at  least  going  to  the  spot  where 
she  once  was,  to  her  dwelling  place,  as  it  were; 
even  though  she  be  fled  out  of  the  house  beyond 
all  vision  of  mine. 

I  desire  to  remain  there  long  enough  to  let  the 
influences  strike  deep  into  me  and  work  a  per- 
manent cure.  With  my  return  to  America  I 
hope  that  there  will  be  no  return  to  what  I  fled 
from,  journeying  thousands  of  miles  towards 
lands  blessed  with  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  natural 
sunlight.  It  was  a  vague  instinct  which  drove 
me  —  for  I  really  did  not  know  what  I  was 
doing  —  like  a  slender  vine  in  a  dark  cellar  which 
sends  up  a  lone  weakly  shoot  in  search  of  the 
light  of  day.  Of  course  I  can  not  tell  what  the 
future  has  in  store ;  it  may  be  that  America  with 
its  Hell  of  Restlessness  will  again  infect  me,  for 
it  is  the  happy  balance  of  activity  and  repose 
which  constitutes  true  living.  What  I  shall  then 
do  I  cannot  say ;  but  I  can  tell  you  what  I  shall 
feel  like  doing  —  I  shall  feel  like  abandoning 
forever  that  spot  of  earth  which  Providence  has 
done  me  the  disfavor  to  set  me  down  on,  though 
it  be  my  native  country.     But  to  arouse  these 


398  BOME  II. 

.suaky-luiired  anxieties  does  not  accord  with  my 
present  mood ;  so  let  them  be  driven  off  into 
their  obscure  cavernous  retreat.  With  them 
clinging  about  me,  I  never  can  win  the  Greek 
maid  aforementioned,  for  she  always  flees  from 
such  a  brood  of  ugly  monsters.  Least  of  all  can 
they  endure  the  happy  sunshine  of  your  letter ; 
when  I  think  of  it  just  now,  they  all  take  to 
flight  and  disappear. 

I  believe  that  there  are  some  spiritual  troubles 
which  the  ancients  knew  better  how  to  manage 
than  we;  they  were  not  dark  brooders  but 
happy  enjoyers.  Their  life,  their  poetry,  and 
above  all  their  art  called  man  away  from  him- 
self, turned  the  feelings  outwards  instead  of 
allowing  them  to  prey  inwards.  A  view  of  those 
transparent,  plastic  shapes  must  have  cleared  up 
the  soul  after  the  wildest  tempests.  The  other 
day  after  an  absence  of  some  months  in  the 
North  I  went  to  the  Vatican  Gallery  of  Sculp- 
ture ;  how  can  I  describe  the  impression !  It 
was  as  if  you  would  visit  a  divine  friend  who 
sees  through  Heaven  and  Earth,  and  who  knows 
exactly  what  chord  to  touch  in  order  to  make 
you  happy.  The  visit  was  a  communing,  an 
imparting  of  the  celestial  nature.  Now  I  can 
see  what  the  genuine  worship  of  the  heathen 
was,  and  why  they  could  adore  a  statue  as  an 
Apollo,  as  an  all-healing  God.  But  even  here 
in  the  decline  of  Art,  and  of  Faith  which  gives 


A  TOUR  LV  EUROPE.  399 

birth  to  All,  uulitippy  broodiug  and  struggle  en- 
ters; f<a-  in.sLaaee  the  Locoon  represents  terrific 
conflict  with  evil,  and  the  flnal  victory  of  the  old 
serpent  whom  we  know  so  well  from  the  Bible, 
Life  thus  is  a  battle  in  which  the  Devil  is  always 
the  victor;  yet  this  is  not  the  serene  Greek  world 
any  longer,  but  caught  in  the  toil  of  Fate  and 
destroyed  like  Locoon 

Rome,   Oct.   16th,  1878. 

I  send  you  some  very  slight  reminiscences  in 
the  shape  of  leaves.  It  is  hard  to  say  in  what 
condition  they  will  reach  you  after  traveling  so 
many  thousands  of  miles,  tossed  about  on  land 
and  sea.  I  might  send  something  better,  but  it 
would  be  apt  to  be  confiscated  on  the  way  by  the 
officers  of  the  revenue  as  an  article  requiring 
duty.  Leaves,  I  sui)pose,  do  not  pay  any  tariff 
even  in  our  tariff-ridden  country. 

The  largest  bunch  of  leaves  was  plucked  from 
the  olive,  which  abound  in  this  part  of  the  world, 
as  you  know.  I  hope  that  they  will  retain  their 
double  color,  as  well  as  their  shape,  for  both  are 
modest  and  beautiful.  The  under  side  of  the  leaf 
is  silvery  with  almost  a  metallic  luster,  yet  milder ; 
while  the  ui)[)er  side  is  of  a  soft  green  dotted  with 
an  infinite  number  of  small  sparkling  points.  To 
sec  an  olive  tree,  or  still  better  an  olive  orchard 
under  the  rays  of  the  sun  with  a   slight  breeze 


^00  EOME  II. 

nioviag  the  leaves,  never  fails  to  arouse  tlie  keen 
est  natural  gladness;  there  is  such  a  tossing  and 
tumbling  of  the  foliage,  such  a  sparkling  play  of 
their  tints  that  each  tree-top  seems  like  a  bevy 
of  merry  children.  It  laughs,  yet  always  with  a 
wiuninor  comeliness — for  notice  the  slender  grace- 
ful  form  of  the  leaf;  it  never  moves  in  an  un- 
graceful manner.  There  is  no  object  in  nature 
here  more  attractive  than  the  olive;  then  its 
utility  is  beyond  all  computation,  for  it  really 
furnishes  to  this  population  meat  in  its  vegetable 
oil — meat  here  grows  on  trees. 

How  often  have  I  stopped  on  my  journey  and 
watched  the  dance  of  the  leaves  I  I  have  even 
lain  down  under  the  trees  and  looked  at  them 
playing  on  an  Italian  sky  as  a  background.  It 
was  the  tree  sacred  to  Minerva,  and  the  ancients 
have  celebrated  it  in  many  a  legend.  The  God- 
dess of  Wisdom  planted  it  on  the  Athenian  Acrop- 
olis, whence  it  furnishes  refreshing  shade  and 
nourishment  even  until  this  day  to  man,  and  a 
crop  of  poetry. 

The  cluster  of  four  leaves  is  from  the  ilex,  or 
the  holm-oak,  a  tree  which  you  will  encounter 
in  Virgil  and  other  classical  writers.  It  is  dis- 
tinguished for  its  thick  foliage  forming  a  dense 
shade  —  a  very  useful  tree  in  this  hot  climate. 
The  Pincio  which,  as  you  perhaps  know,  is  the 
elevated  park  of  the  Romans,  is  planted  with 
them ;   this  twig  was  plucked  from   one  of  the 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  401 

trees  near  the  Villa  Medici.     Now  they  are  lillcd 
with  acorns. 

The  other  two  leaves  are  from  the  laurel,  being 
also  taken  fioiu  the  Pincio.  The  garlands  of 
,  Poets  and  Conquerors  were  made  of  it,  and  it 
has  become  the  symbol  of  all  that  is  beautiful 
and  noble  in  human  kind.  Though  we  have  no 
laurel  in  America,  yet  we  often  hear  of  laurels; 
the  word  has  traveled  far  out  of  the  region  of 
the  tree.  It  also  has  a  special  interest  on 
account  of  its  connection  with  modern  Italian 
poets,  Dante  and  Petrarch  for  example. 

Now  with  a  little  aid  from  your  reading  and 
your  imagination,  you  can  enter  the  classical 
woods  and  look  upi)n  the  trees  which  have  been 
sung  about  so  nmch  that  they  themselves  seem 
to  sing.  Listen  to  these  leaves  and  you  will 
hear  a  voice  which  perchance  may  set  you  even 
in  America  to  singing  of  the  olive,  ilex  and 
laurel.  Do,  for  once  in  your  life  be  a  little  sen- 
timental; I  am  sure  that  I  have  set  you  a  good 
example  in  this  respect.  I  see  that  you  are 
somewhat  alarmed  at  my  increasing  youthful- 
ness;  you  seem  to  fear  that  I  shall  return  even 
to  babyhood.  Just  what  I  want  to  be  —  some- 
body's baby.  "Unless  ye  become  as  little 
children,"  etc. — that  is  the  Heaven  which  lam 
entering.  Something  too  much  of  this  —  so 
adieu. 

26 


402  EOME  II. 

Rome,  Oct.  19th,  1878. 

I  have  broken  away  from  Rome  again,  this 
time  southward.  More  than  a  month  I  have 
tarried  in  the  Eternal  City,  and  somehow  I  feel 
that  I  shall  see  it  on  my  return.  The  emotion 
on  leaving  it  is  very  different  from  that  which 
came  over  me  when  I  quit  it  last  summer  for  the 
North  and  Germany.  Now  Hellas  floats  before 
me  in  all  sorts  of  bewitching  forms,  which  cause 
me  to  live  in  a  world  of  glorious  anticipation. 
I  am  writing  this  in  the  Railroad  Station,  while 
w^aiting  for  the  train  to  Naples,  and  I  have  time 
to  look  back  a  little. 

Let  not  my  confession  astonish  you  when  I  say 
that  I  am  in  a  kind  of  reaction  against  Rome ;  I 
begin  to  feel  its  limits,  especially  of  its  art  and 
culture.  I  must  get  out  of  it,  back  of  it,  beyond 
it,  to  the  original  source  of  that  stream  which 
pours  through  it  down  the  ages,  and  which  has 
been  not  a  little  discolored  by  the  passage.  A 
feeling  of  satiety  has  come  over  me,  it  seems  to 
me  that  I  have  a  touch  of  that  Roman  world- 
pain  (  Weltschmerz)  which  runs  darkly  through 
the  Latin  poets,  and  which  becomes  the  direct 
motive  of  the  statue  of  Antinous,  truly  the 
great  work  of  a  Roman  soul  of  the  imperial  time. 
But  my  face  this  morning  is  turned  away  from 
Rome  toward  Helhis,  and  when  I  think  of  thiit, 
satiety    will    sink    back  into  Orcus,   I  Mip[)ose, 


& 


A  TOUR  AV  EUROPE.  403 

while    Joy   and  Hope    flap  their  rainbow  wintrs 
before  my  eyes,  beckoninoj  me  onward. 

And  now  as  a  parting  shot  I  am  going  to  let 
fly  at  you  over  the  Ocean,  a  little  epigram  which 
has  been  rollicking  through  my  brain  as  I  have 
wormed  through  this  variegated  Italian  crowd  at 
the  Station,  and  has  at  last  danced  itself  into 
existence  through  the  point  of  my  pencil. 

Swinging  on  high  between  two  visions  seemeth 
my  journey, 
As  the  pendulum  swings  back  fuom  a  tick  to  a 
tick; 
And  on  the  clock  of  the  world  I  am  markinof  the 
weightiest  moments, 
As  I  sweep  to  and  fro  through  the  dead  ages 
embalmed; 
Substance  fades  to  a  dream  but  the  dream  soon 
hardens  to  substance. 
Huge    Coliseum  recedes,    Parthenon    rises  to 
view. 

Monfe  Cassino,  Oct.  19th,  1878. 

Rome  is  now  behind  me  and  I  am  making  my 
way  towards  Greece;  just  at  present,  however, 
my  destination  is  Naples.  But  I  could  not  pass 
by  the  famous  monastery  of  Monte  Cassino, 
which  was  perched  upon  this  high  mountain 
like  a  lighthouse  during  the  Dark  Ages.  From 
the  railroad  down  in  the  valley  I  see  the  coronal 


404  ROME  II. 

of  buildings  cupping  the  summit  and  overlooking 
the  country  fur  and  wide.  As  that  summit  is 
my  objective  point,  I  at  once  start  for  it  by  the 
shortest  way,  when  I  step  out  of  the  cars. 
Guides  are  there  offering  to  conduct  me  oa  foot 
or  to  furnisli  me  a  mule  for  riding  up  the  steep 
and  weary  ascent ;  but  who  with  eyes  cun  not 
see  von  building  or  who  with  legs  can  not  walk 
up  a  hill?  So  I  push  on  alone,  after  having 
deposited  my  baggage  at  the  inn. 

It  is  Saturday  and  the  peasants  from  the  sur- 
rounding country  have  flocked  to  the  town  which 
lies  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  in  order  to  dis- 
pose of  their  products.  The  men  have  an 
ancient  costume,  usually  variegated  with  patches 
of  many  colors;  shoes  are  not  in  use,  but  a 
species  of  primitive  sandal  made  of  oxhide. 
The  women  have  an  elaborate  toilet  of  its  kind, 
with  great  variety  of  tints ;  upon  the  head  is 
laid  a  white  cloth  like  a  towel  folded  after  iron- 
ing. They  cun  not  be  culled  beuutiful ;  very 
early  they  are  subjected  to  severe  out-door  labor; 
the  result  is,  they  are  deeply  tanned  by  the  sun, 
wrinkled,  distorted;  they  look  like  dried-up  oak- 
knots.  Full  of  bustle  and  chatter  aud  chaffer- 
ing they  offer  their  wares;  I  push  through  the 
market  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  where  the  road 
leads  UDwards.  Here  too  are  leather-visaged 
women  with  heavy  burdens  skipping  over  the 
rocks,  barefooted  and  happy. 


A  TOUE  ly  EUIiORE.  405 

Around  the  iiiouutaiu  llio  loud  winds  like  ii 
spiral;  this  seems  to  nie  too  long,  so  I  conclude 
to  cut  these  spirals  by  a  straight  line  to  the  sum- 
mit. Over  walls^  through  olive  orchards,  up  we 
go  till  about  half  way;  a  sense  of  fatiijue  besrius 
to  make  itself  felt ;  but  1  turn  arouud  and  look 
at  the  glorious  hindscape,  andj  I  am  refreshed. 
A  long  j)eaceful  valley  surrounded  by  mountains 
which  alternately  play  or  fight  with  the  clouds  is 
reached  over  by  the  eye.  Ou  a  neighboring  hill 
is  an  old  castle;  here  you  see  side  by  side  the 
types  of  the  Middle  Ages,  Cloister  and  Castle  — 
the  one  furnishing  the  meti  of  thought,  the  other 
the  men  of  action.  Both  are  placed  upon  steep 
high  places  for  security;  each  is  divorced  from 
the  other,  yet  both  dominate  the  houses  below 
where  the  people  reside.  From  these  structures 
and  their  situation  you  can  quickly  catch  the 
spirit  of  those  who  built  them  and  of  the  times 
in  which  they  were  built.  So  true  is  it  that 
man  can  construct  only  what  he  himself  is,  not 
what  he  is  not.  At  present,  however,  both 
Castle  and  Cloister  are  in  a  state  of  decav,  even 
of  ruin;  Authority,  religious  and  political,  has 
descended  into  the  plain  below,  to  abide  among 
the  people.  For  what  else  does  a  ruin  say  but 
this:  Alas,  behold  nie  with  sympathy;  I  am  but 
a  dead  body  whose  spirit  has  fled;  unless  thou 
preservest  me,  soon  even  my  bones  will  disappear 
into  the  elements.     My  day  is  past  —  woe  is  me. 


406  EOME  II. 

But  the  hardest  part  of  the  ascent  remains, 
precipitous,  rugged  and  henceforward  unculti- 
vated. Still  I  go  straight  up,  often  scrambling 
on  all  fours  in  order  to  pass  a  difficult  place. 
My  only  company  now  is  the  lizard,  a  very  agile 
and  not  ungraceful  little  creature  who  has  an 
undisturbed  paradise  amid  the  rocks.  I  grow 
tired,  very  tired;  I  begin  to  think  that  it  was 
the  impetuosity  of  youth  which  caused  me  to 
undertake  such  a  tramp.  But  I  am  soon  in 
breath  again  and  begin  with  fresh  delight  after 
a  look  over  the  country ;  I  glance  toward  the 
summit,  it  does  not  seem  far,  though  I  do  not 
now  see  the  monastery.  But  when  I  reach  the 
point  upon  which  my  eye  rested,  behold,  it  is 
not  the  top  but  merely  a  projection  of  the  side 
of  the  mountain.  Still  there  is  quite  a  distance 
to  the  summit,  wdiich  seemed  always  to  get 
higher,  till  I  thought  I  would  enter  the  very 
gates  of  Heaven.  So  doubtless  thought  the  old 
monks  as  they  climbed  this  mountain :  the  en- 
trance to  their  monastery  was  the  entrance  to 
Paradise. 

At  last  I  reach  the  court,  fatigued  and  heated ; 
a  large  cistern  offers  abundance  of  water  which 
I  am  afraid  to  drink,  but  I  bathe  my  temples  and 
arras  till  my  thirst  and  perspiration  are  assuaged. 
A  servant  comes  along,  I  ask  him  if  he  can  give 
me  a  little  wine;  he  bids  me  go  with  him,  we 
pass  through   long  corridors  lined  with  the  cells 


A   TOUIi  IN  EUROPE.  407 

oi  mouks,  till  we  come  to  his  little  chamber. 
He  Wiis  a  curious  old  man,  this  servant,  with  a 
mysterious  air  of  cunning  about  him ;  concern- 
ing  the  most  trivial  matters  he  assumed  a  secret 
look  of  importance.  He  never  talked  above  a 
whisper;  he  slipped  through  the  hall  on  tiptoe; 
he  never  used  a  word  when  he  could  employ  a 
gesture;  his  information  was  never  conveyed 
plainly,  but  always  with  some  aml)iguity.  Still 
he  told  me  that  he  had  been  thirty-six  years  in 
the  service  of  the  monastery  and  had  learned 
something.  Here  was  the  genuine  Italian  clown, 
who  gives  a  comic  reflection  of  what  he  finds  in 
his  master;  for  I  could  not  help  drawing  this 
inference  from  his  actions;  he  had  seen  the  cun- 
ning of  his  superiors  all  his  life — he  would  be 
cunning  too.  I  knew  him  from  Italian  comedv 
previously,  but  here  he  was  in  person,  in  actual 
flesh  and  blood. 

But  there  was  no  ambiguity  in  the  wine  which 
he  served  up  to  me,  nor  was  there  any  ambiguity 
in  ray  drinking.  I  tell  you  it  did  me  good.  I 
rewarded  him  with  a  handsome  quantity  of  cop- 
pers, wdiich  pleased  him  so  much  that  he  at  once 
conducted  me  to  the  notable  things  of  the  place, 
of  which  the  most  notable  is  the  church.  It  has 
the  most  gorgeously  decorated  interior  that  can 
be  imagined  ;  no  church  in  Rome  equals  it  in  this 
respect.  The  effect  is  i)eeuliar,  you  are  dazzled, 
indeed  benumbed   for  a    time  by  the    splendor. 


1 


408  BOME  II. 

The  colors  take  absolute  possession  of  the  eye ; 
form,  proportion,  symmetry,  not  to  speak  of  the 
thought,  are  unseen  in  that  glare  of  magnificance. 
Pillars  and  walls  are  inlaid  with  every  variety  of  ^ 
colored  marble;  every  inch  of  ceiling  is  covered 
with  paintings  ;  where  there  is  nothing  else,  there 
is  gilt;  the  whole  forms  a  wild,  I  should  say, 
feverish,  phantasmagoria  of  color. 

I  do  not  think,  however,  that  the  delight  in 
such  a  structure  can  be  permanent,  for  it  does 
not  appeal  to  that  which  is  permanent  in  man. 
It  was  not  long  before  I  felt  its  violations  of  na- 
ture and  good  taste,  such  as  flying  cherubs  hung 
by  the  back  from  the  ceiling;  far  different 
does  the  Apollo  Belvedere  fly.  Everything  is 
subservient  to  ornament  apparently;  in  them- 
selves these  objects  have  no  ground  of  existence. 
Indeed  the  church  finally  makes  the  impression 
that  it  stands  there  only  for  ornament,  without 
any  spiritual  necessity  ;  it  might  just  as  well  be 
something  else,  some  other  kind  of  scaffolding 
for  hanging  ornaments  on.  Still  it  is  a  wou- 
derful  work;  color  by  itself  can  hardly  do  more. 

This  monastery  belongs  to  the  Benedictines  — 
founded,  it  is  said  by  St.  Benedict  himself  in 
525  A.  D.  It  is  thus  the  cradle  of  that  great 
order  which  has  really  done  much  good  in  former 
ages.  One  can  not  help  comparing  these  struc- 
tures with  those  at  Assisi,  the  home  of  St. 
Francis.     The  church  at  Assisi  is  in  every  way 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  40ti 

different,  more  earne.st,  nmre  deeply  religious, 
vet  more  sombre.  Whether  this  urchitecturul 
difference  fairly  iidumbrates  the  difference  be- 
tween the  two  founders  or  between  the  two 
orders,  I  can  not  tell ;  but  the  comparison  is 
not  fair  on  account  of  the  great  difference  of 
aire  between  the  two  edifices.  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain:  this  church  of  Monte  Cassino  is  worldly, 
is  devoted  to  enjoyment  of  the  senses ;  its  ex- 
ternal magnificence  is  without  any  deep,  earnest 
spiritual  principle.  It  is  not  yet  a  ruin,  but  the 
monastery  is  now  secularized  bylaw;  Time  can 
not  long  keep  off  his  hand. 

But  the  view  from  the  summit  will  remain, 
whoever  may  dwell  there ;  this  has  a  natural 
gift  of  holiness,  as  I  may  call  it,  which  made 
men  well  when  the  mountain  was  crowned  by 
the  temple  of-  Apollo  in  antiquity.  To-morrow 
I  start  on  my  way  to  Naples  with  the  intention 
of  stopping  a  few  hours  at  Capua. 


transit. 

Naples,  Oct.  22nd,  1878. 

Last  evening  I  reached  the  New  City,  which 
still  bears  its  Greek  name  somewhat  niutihitcd 
{N'eapolis,  in  Greek,  Ncqjoli  m  Italian).  This 
means  that  I  have  crossed  the  first  line  from 
Italia  into  Graecia,  that  is,  into  the  transitional 
territory  which  may  be  called  Italic  Greece  and 
which  lay  anciently  in  Southern  Italy,  partic- 
ularly in  the  Greek  cities  along  the  sea-coast.  , 

Do  I  find  any  traces  of  that  old  Greek  origin 
and  character  still  remaining  among  the  people? 
I  have  already  come  upon  something  which  has 
impressed  me  in  that  way.  Around  the  most 
frequented  P(il)lic  Square  stand  many  little 
booths  which  arc  places  of  amusement  for  the 
(410) 


A  TO  UR  IN  E  Un  OPE.  i  1 1 

populace  —  jugglers,  sword-swallowers,  ventrilo- 
quists and  all  that  sort  of  artists  ply  their  trade 
there.  Sauntering  around  I  stroll  into  one  of 
these  bootlis,  lured  by  a  show-bill  which  spoke 
of  the  Wedding  of  Thetis.  I  said  to  myself: 
"  What !  is  that  old  Greek  tale  still  told  here  in 
Naples  to  the  common  people,  most  of  whom 
cannot  read!"  I  enter  the  place  for  a  penny, 
and  behold !  here  comes  heary  Neptune  with  his 
trident  heading  a  procession  of  sea-deities.  A 
young  fellow  tells  the  story,  which  is  illustrated 
by  scenes,  introducing  the  Nereids,  Galathea, 
and  the  rest  (some  of  whom  I  could  not  make 
out).  Then  Peleus  the  mortal  bridegroom  en- 
teretl  and  carried  off  the  fair  Thetis  from  her 
divine  wooers.  Out  of  this  marriage,  you  know, 
sprang  Achilles,  the  supreme  Greek  hero  at 
Troy,  who  somehow  came  forth  on  the  stage  at 
the  end,  when  the  performance  closed  to  the 
great  satisfaction  of  the  little  audience.  As 
soon  as  I  reached  the  street,  a  beggar  who  had 
been  present  at  the  show,  asked  me  for  alms. 
I  said  to  him:  "  I  shall  give  you  this  (showing 
him  a  copper  coin),  if  you  will  tell  me  who  was 
Achilles."  The  fellow  knew  of  him  as  the 
slayer  of  Hecter.  "  Another  piece  of  money 
here,  if  you  will  tell  me  about  Proteus."  That 
beggar  replied:  "two  cents  more  and  I  will 
show  you  his  transformations."  So  I  saw  old 
Proteus  turned  into  a  crawling  snake,  a  devourinor 


41L  TRANSIT. 

lion,  and  a  fluttering  tree  in  about  two  minutes. 
You  know  tliiit  the  Neapolitans  are  great  mimics, 
and  can  talk  better  by  grimace  and  gesture  than 
by  word. 

Now  the  interest  of  all  this  to  me  was  that  it 
showed  the  Greek  Mythus  to  be  still  alive  among 
the  people  here,  and  employed  as  an  expression 
of  life.  The  Neapolitan  dialect  is  beyond  me, 
so  that  I  cannot  say  to  what  degree  language  is 
still  affected  by  the  old  Greek  tongue.  But 
there  are  said  to  be  villages  in  Southern  Italy 
and  Sicily  which  to-day  talk  Greek,  though 
corrupt. 

Naples,  Oct.  25th,  1878. 

The  popular  art  of  this  city  has  a  tendency  to 
the  small,  to  a  great  skill  in  making  dainty  little 
objects.  Sleeve-buttons,  and  buttons  of  every 
kind,  jewelry,  and  many  petty  utensils  are 
wrought  exquisitely  out  of  common  materials, 
such  as  lava  and  sea-shell  and  coral.  This  fact, 
I  am  inclined  to  regard  as  an  old  Greek  inherit- 
ance in  which  the  whole  people  participate. 
There  seems  to  be  a  formative  sense  here  which 
is  well-nigh  general,  a  plastic  feeling  which  has 
come  down  from  another  time  and  faith. 

The  decorations  which  are  found  in  Pompeii 
appear  to  point  to  the  same  fact.  They  must 
have  been  mostly  made  not  by  artists,  but  by 
common    artisans,  to  whom  the  Greek  niythical 


A  TOUR  IS  EUROPE.  413 

world  was  familiar  not  only  in  its  story  l)ut 
also  in  its  sculptured  and  painted  shapes,  the 
works  of  the  best  Greek  artists  for  hundreds  of 
years.  What  a  training!  In  fact  the  Mythus 
was  once  the  chief  education  of  the  people,  and 
still  ought  to  be  employed  as  an  educational  in- 
strumentality. 

Now  I  shall  tell  you  what  this  universal  sense 
of  form  in  the  minute  things  of  life  has  recalled  : 
the  Greek  Anthology,  which  has  preserved  the 
versiclcs,  themselves  often  little  works  of  art, 
which  the  ancients  turned  out  on  every  little 
occasion.  Fortunately  in  a  second-hand  book- 
stall at  Berlin,  I  came  upon  a  selection  of  the 
best  of  these  by  Frederick  Jacobs,  a  German  clas- 
sical scholar  of  distinction.  His  Delectus  Epi- 
grammatum  Grcacorum  with  Latin  notes  is  now  a 
kind  of  manual  with  me,  and  furnishes  a  striking 
counterpart  to  what  I  see  before  me  in  the  pretty 
artistic  shapes  carved  on  a  thousand  little  articles 
both  of  decoration  and  utility.  Previously  I  had 
to  work  throuorh  the  whole  mass  of  these  little 
poems  good  and  bad,  but  now  I  rejoice  in  an 
Anthology  of  the  Anthology  by  the  German 
pedagogue  of  Gotha  in  usum  scholarum.  This 
is  a  great  boon. 

As  a  result  of  all  these  favorable  circumstances 
the  epigrammatic  mood  has  overflowed  me  again 
with  considerable  intensity.  Naples  is  to  me  the 
epigrammatic  city   in  its   art,    in  its  life,   in  its 


414  TEANSIT. 

stimulation.  And  the  sea  here  moves  to  the  same 
measure.  I  rode  out  on  the  waters  of  the  Medi- 
terranean, and  the  boat  rocked  in  the  waves  to 
the  tune  of  an  epigram  : 

Merrily  under  tlie  touch  of  the  rudder  is  rocking 
the  vessel, 
Eising  a  little  above,  falling  a  little  below, 
Eager  to  dance  on  the  sea  with  the  billow    and 
romp  with  the  sunbeam, 
While  the  wares  in  the  hold  safely  to  haven  it 
brings. 
Epigrams,  rise,  your  voyage  begins,   now  rock 
with  the  vessel. 
One  with  the  sway  of  the  ship,  one  with  the 
storm  and  the  calm. 

So  I  invoked  the  little  sprites  all  day,  and  they 
buzzed  around  me  in  hundreds  of  flitting  sportive 
shapes  teasing  me  to  catch  them  and  to  put  them 
into  the  fettered  word.  Of  course  many  escaped 
my  grasp,  leaving  no  trace  in  memory  or  only  a 
little  shred  of  radiance,  a  mere  film  of  the  hum- 
ming-bird's wing.  But  many  I  caught  and  caged 
in  writ,  and  sometimes  an  hexametral  line  would 
sing  itself  fully  out  in  an  easy  laughing  way  when 

All  the  sea  was  a  smile  and  a  twinkle  was  every  - 
wavelet. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  ^  15 


Naples,  Oct.  25th,  1878. 

I  came  to  Naples  with  my  heart  set  upon 
three  things,  namely:  Pompeii,  the  Museum  and 
Vesuvius.  To  be  sure  there  are  many  other  de- 
li^rhts  here  which  can  be  included  in  a  trip;  for 
this  city  is  peculiar  in  not  a  few  respects.  Mo- 
l)ility  is  the  characteristic  of  the  population; 
sucli  a  chaffering,  jolly  set  of  vagabonds  can  not 
elsewhere  be  found  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 
The  degree  to  which  cunning  is  carried  has  ex- 
cited  my  wonder  to  the  highest  pitch ;  I  have 
been  ©utrageously  cheated  three  times  with  eyes 
wide  open  in  spite  of  myself,  deception  is  here  the 
finest  of  all  the  fine  arts,  as  far  as  my  experience 
goes.  Then  the  impudence  of  these  people 
deserves  the  highest  praise  for  its  grand  propor- 
tions; after  deceiving  you  they  are  ready,  in 
fact,  they  think  it  a  part  of  the  comedy,  to  let 
you  know  how  completely  they  have  humbugged 
you.  A  poddler,  in  the  most  ingenious  manner 
succeeded  in  selling  me  a  pair  of  sleeve-buttons 
for  five  francs;  in  a  few  moments  he  returned 
and  offered  a  similar  pair  for  two  francs,  "for 
says  he,  it  is  always  well  to  have  tw(^  pairs  in  case 
you  lose  one."  It  was  quite  the  same  as  telling 
me  to  my  face  that  he  had  cheated  me  out  of  three 
francs. 

On  the  second   day  after  my  arrival  I  took  a 


416  TRANSIT. 

jaunt  to  Pozzuoli,  a  town  on  the  sea-shore  ten 
miles  distant  from  Naples.  On  the  way  is  the 
the  tomb  of  Virgil  (said  to  be  so  at  least)  to 
which  I  paid  a  pilgrimage  and  plucked  a  twig 
from  a  laurel  which  is  in  the  grounds,  and  which 
rumor  declars  to  have  been  planted  by  Petrarch 
originally.  Here  too  my  sentimental  mood  was 
marred  by  an  attempt  at  shulduggery  on  the  part 
of  the  guide.  Passing  through  the  grot  of  Pos- 
silupo,  I  came  in  a  short  time  to  the  sea  whose 
waves  soon  washed  away  all  petty  vexations. 
Here  Neptune  revealed  himself  in  certain  won- 
derful forms  which  I  had  never  seen  before.  As 
the  billows  came  rolling  and  breaking  upon  the 
coast,  it  seemed  as  if  there  could  be  in  them 
somethino;  of  what  the  old  Greeks  beheld  in  the 
water  of  the  sea.  So  I  trudged  along  the  shore 
occupied  pleasantly  with  my  fancies,  till  Poz- 
zuoli  stood  in  the  way.  Here  as  I  entered  the 
market-place,  half  the  women  of  the  town  were 
engased  in  a  street  fight;  I  looked  on  a  while, 
but  I  could  not  understand  the  cause  of  the 
trouble  in  the  Neapolitan  dialect.  A  return  to 
Naples  on  foot  threw  me  into  the  night ;  but  I 
saw  across  the  harbor  above  the  summit  of 
Vesuvius  a  glowing  red  crown,  the  reflection  from 
the  crater  below. 

Two  days  already  I  have  given  to  the  Museum 
without  having  seen  half  of  its  treasures,  not  to 
speak  of  having  studied  them.     That  which  at- 


A  TO Uli  IN  E UJi OPE.  4  1 7 

tracts  me  most  is  the  puiutiiigs  of  Pompeii ;  they 
reveal  a  new  art,  indeed  a  new  world.  Both  the 
subjects  and  methods  of  execution  surpass  mod- 
ern painting;  I  went  through  the  gallery  where 
they  are  displayed,  in  a  sort  of  fever  of  excite- 
ment. Here  was  an  art  which  naturally  grew 
out  of  the  theme,  and  was  really  a  part  of  the 
life  of  the  people.  I  now  became  conscious  of 
what  I  had  before  vaguely  felt,  that  the  so-called 
Christian  painting,  with  the  exception  of  a  few 
works  by  a  few  masters,  has  little  real  signifi- 
cance for  me.  I  have  tried  to  work  into  it  with 
my  heart  as  well  as  with  my  head  here  in  Italy, 
but  I  feel  satisfied  that  in  my  present  condition 
of  mind  there  is  no  use.  After  all,  these  descents 
from  the  cross,  martyrdoms,  crucifixions  with 
the  whole  tribe  of  saints,  monks  and  church- 
fathers  are  not  congenial  to  me,  and  hereafter  I 
am  going  to  leave  them  alone.  As  a  purely  his- 
torical development,  the  history  of  Modern  Paint- 
ing has  an  interest,  but  a  view  of  these  ancient 
works,  though  merely  copies  and  in  a  half-ruined 
condition,  has  given  me  a  delightful  foretaste 
of  what  I  have  been  vaguely  hunting.  In  the 
Museum  is  a  large  collection  of  old  Italtan  pic- 
tures; I  did  not  have  the  heart  to  look  at  them 
after  seeing  the  Pompeian  collection,  though 
there  are  three  or  four  which  I  must  yet  see. 

27 


418  THAN  SIT. 

ISTaples,  Oct.  26th,  1878. 

I  have  seen  him,  the  fire-breathing  demon 
Vesuvius  who  has  done  so  much  good  and  so 
much  evil  in  the  world — his  worst  act  being  the 
destruction  and  his  best  act  the  preservation  of 
Pompeii.  So  closely  are  good  and  evil  chained 
together  in  our  world,  so  readily  does  each  as- 
sume the  form  of  the  other!  Already  I  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  top  sending  up  a  column 
of  steam,  when  the  train  wound  slowly  into 
Naples ;  I  then  had  a  longing  to  make  a  closer 
acquaintance  with  the  monster ;  to-day  the  plan 
was  carried  out. 

Starting  from  Naples  I  first  went  to  Resina,  a 
town  lying  at  the  base  of  the  mountain;  after  a 
toilsome  drive  the  Observatory  was  reached,  from 
which  point  carriages  proceed  no  further.  A 
mule  is  offered,  but  I  preferred  to  walk  to  the 
foot  of  the  cone.  Now  begins  the  steep  ascent 
for  which  it  is  impossible  to  employ  even  a  mule. 
Three  ways  of  getting  up  the  cone :  to  be  carried 
up,  to  be  pushed  up,  or  to  walk  up;  the  latter 
was  my  way.  You  often  slip  back  in  the  yield- 
ing ashes;  at  points,  if  you  look  back,  it  seems 
dizzy  down  the  precipitous  sides ;  you  grow  tired 
of  the  struggle  against  a  mountain — but  courage, 
you  will  conquor;  here  is  the  summit,  or  rim  on 
which  you  look  over  into  the  crater. 

Dense  fumes  composed  of  steam  and  gas  with 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  4 19 

:i  strong  sulphurous  smell  greet  us;  brimstone  at 
least  is  in  that  fire  which  leaps  out  of  the  earth. 
At  a  short  distance  is  the  second  small  crater; 
here  is  the  mouth,  the  hole  of  the  monster.  You 
hear  a  detonation  like  that  of  heavy  artillery  ; 
high  up  into  the  air  are  hurled  stones  red-hot 
and  lava  accompanied  with  smoke;  the  frag- 
ments are  scattered  in  every  direction,  most  of 
them,  hovrever,  falling  back  into  the  small  crater. 
It  was  as  if  the  monster  just  spirted  out  a  iew 
small  mouthfuls  for  our  entertainment;  we  feel 
that  he  could  blow  us  all  up  into  the  air  if  he 
would  only  try.  So  Vesuvius  continues  throw- 
ing out  his  little  scattered  masses  day  and  night; 
you  imagine  him  to  be  asleep  and  only  breathing 
somewhat  heavily ;  what  if  he  would  wake  up 
and  in  anger ! 

After  watching  this  pit  for  a  time,  one  becomes 
familiar,  even  friendly  with  it;  so  I  concluded  to 
descend  into  it,  and  lay  my  hand  on  its  mane,  as 
it  were.  You  must  now  imagine  the  locality — a 
large  crater  in  which  is  situated  a  small  crater, 
from  which  alone  the  fire  is  sent  forth;  between 
the  two  rims  of  the  craters  is  quite  a  little  plain 
covered  with  the  crust  of  hardened  lava  over 
which  one  may  walk.  Figure  to  yourselves  a 
large  wooden  bowMn  which  is  placed  a  teacup; 
thus  you  will  have  a  picture  of  the  two  craters  and 
the  plain  between  them.  Sol  descend,  preceded 
by  my  guide,  into  this  plain  by  a  very  steep  path, 


420  TRANSIT. 

througli  aslies  which  still  smoke  ;  putting  my  hand 
into  them  I  feel  that  they  are  uncomfortably 
warm.  I  run  through  them  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  crust  beneath  which  the  fires  are  still 
glowing. 

The  guide  steps  over  on  this  crust ;  I  follow,  I 
confess  with  some  diffidence.  Spitting  on  it  to 
see  how  hot  it  is,  I  observe  that  the  spittle  is  at 
once  converted  into  steam ;  still  it  is  not  too  hot 
for  leather,  if  you  move  about.  Ramming  my 
stick  into  a  crevice  at  my  feet,  it  at  once  takes 
fire ;  indeed  the  lava  can  be  seen  there  still  red ; 
I  stoop  down  near  it  and  give  it  a  friendly  glance. 
But  it  is  evidently  going  to  sleep  ;  in  a  few  more 
days  it  will  lose  its  bloomingcolor  and  turn  dark. 
This  stream  of  lava  is  the  product  of  a  recent 
eruption ;  it  is  said  by  the  guide  to  be  some  ten 
days  old  or  more. 

Notwithstanding  the  proximity  of  all  these 
devilish  forces,  a  person  becomes  indifferent,  nay 
reckless ;  so  I  run  over  the  crust  as  freely  and 
carelessly  as  over  the  ice  on  a  skating-pond.  In 
fact  your  experience  very  much  resembles  your 
first  attempt  to  go  on  ice ;  you  hesitate,  you  are 
afraid,  till  at  last  ywu  become  imprudent.  I 
conclude  to  see  the  small  crater  from  a  closer 
view;  so  I  pass  over  the  intervening  plain  of 
lava,  lured  by  the  demon  as  it  were,  for  it  is  a 
facination  to  see  him  tossing  out  his  red-hot 
rocks  and  to  hear  his  deep  grunts  at  every  heave. 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  421 

A  good-sized  .stone  fjilliiig  not  luuny  feet  in  frcmt  of 
me  gives  me  warning  to  retire  ;  the  guide  loo  ealls 
u  retreat,  so  with  some  unwillingness  I  separate 
from  my  new  acquaintanee.  Now  I  wish  that  I 
had  stayed  longer  there  in  his  presence.  I  only 
mean  that  one  leaves  such  a  scene  with  regret, 
as  the  only  thing  of  the  kind  which  he  has  seen, 
or  is  likely  to  see  again. 

To  get  out  of  the  crater  is  a  short  but  very 
toilsome  piece  of  labor.  Looking  back  at  the 
twisted  lava  as  it  lies  there  cooling,  shapes  of  the 
most  remarkable  kind  come  to  view ;  very  often 
the  limbs  or  trunk  of  the  human  body  seem  to  be 
prostrate  in  every  variety  of  contorsion.  No 
sculptor  could  improve  upon  some  of  these  forms  ; 
then  their  colossal  size  inspires  terror,  when  com- 
])iued  with  so  much  writhing.  Truly  these  are 
the  old  Giants,  pierced  by  the  thunderbolt  of 
Jove — the  hundred-headed,  the  hundred-handed 
monsters  scattered  over  the  plain  and  dying  in 
the  intensest  agony  and  convulsions.  One  of 
these  shapes  I  recollect — it  was  the  only  thing 
that  made  me  shudder  in  the  whole  spectacle  of 
these  tremendous  earth-born  powers — it  was 
merely  a  mighty  arm  strained  to  the  last  limit  of 
tension  and  struggle.  But  here  I  must  break  off 
suddenly  for  reasons  which  cannot  be  given  on 
account  of  the  want  of  time.  Enclosed  I  send  a 
laurel  loaf  from  the  tree  before   mentioned,  that 


422  TBAXSIT. 

is   planted,  near    Virgil's    grave.      Still    address 
jour  letters  to  liome,  Poste  Eestaute. 

Pompeii,  Oct.  29th,  1878. 

I  have  now  taken  a  fairly  complete  survey  of 
the  resurrected  city  with  its  unique  character. 
I  imagine  that  there  is  nothing  like  it  elsewhere 
on  the  globe.  This  is  an  image  of  antiquity 
which  should  be  stamped  upon  the  brain  as  giv- 
inor  a  view  of  ancient  life  which  nothing  else  can. 
To  be  sure  Pompeii  must  be  regarded  mainly  as  a 
rural  town  Ilellenized,  and  belongs  to  a  given 
stasje  of  the  old  Greco-Roman  civilization.  It 
shows  how  completely  art  had  been  taken  up 
into  the  life  of  the  people,  who  lived  and  moved 
in  a  world  of  artistic  forms  greeting  them  on 
every  side,  at  home  and  abroad.  But  the 
domestic  architecture  is  shabby  and  wholly  un- 
developed, especially  on  the  outside.  Evidently 
the  time  for  the  Family  actually  to  appear  has 
not  yet  come.  Still  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can 
see  the  Florentine  Palazzo  evolving  out  of  the 
Pompeiau  House  internally,  for  the  latter  exter- 
nally is  hardly  more  than  a  hovel. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Pompeii  drives  the 
soul  often  to  spells  of  pensive  reflection,  even 
to  brooding  perchance,  over  the  providential 
order.  The  supereminent  thought  here  is  Res- 
urrection,   yea    Resurrection  of    the  Body,   for 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROrE.  423 

the  material  part  of  the  old  town  rises  out  of 
the  earth,  though  skeleton-like  and  imperfect. 
Even  our  happy,  light-winged  little  epigramma- 
tist grows  meditative  in  an  elegiac  distich: 

Many    believe  hereafter  will  be  resurrection  of 
body. 
But  of  the  old  buried  town,  look,  resurrection 
has  copae. 

Three  days  I  have  devoted  to  its  study  and 
direct  inspection,  not  returning  to  Naples  but 
staying  at  the  Hotel  Diomede  which  stands  just 
at  the  entrance.  For  my  studies  I  have  my  very 
full  guide-book  in  German,  Gsell-Fels;  but  this 
seemed  hardly  enough,  so  I  purchased  at  a 
German  book  store  in  Naples  a  co[)y  of  Over- 
beck's  considerable  book  on  Pompeii,  also  in 
German.  By  the  way,  it  should  be  noted  that 
in  every  large  city  of  Italy  we  tind  the  German 
bookseller,  altogether  the  best  and  most  enter- 
prising of  his  tribe  in  the  whole  world,  I  believe. 
The  fact  w^ould  also  seem  to  indicate  that  the 
Germans,  intellectually,  have  far  more  inter- 
course with  Italy  than  any  other  nation,  though 
it  is  probable  that  more  English-speaking  peo- 
ple (English  and  Americans)  visit  Italy,  and  it 
is  certain  that  they  disburse  far  more  money, 
than  the  Germans.  Thus  the  Teutons  of  both 
great  branches  have  again  oversowed  Italy,  but 
this  time  they  arc    not    conc^uering,  destroying 


424  TRANSIT, 

and  robbing,  but  paying  their  way,  to  the  de- 
light and  profit  of  impoverished  Italy. 

The  course  of  the  lava  down  the  sides  of 
Vesuvius  I  have  been  much  interested  in  tracing. 
From  the  vineyards  here  is  expressed  the  juice 
of  that  famous  wine  which  bears  the  name  of 
Lacrima  Chrisii.  At  a  little  wine  shop  by  the 
wayside  I  called  for  a  drink  of  it,  which  the 
tapster  furnished,  of  course,  though  it  was 
probably  not  genuine.  You  know  they  have  in 
Italy  many  articles  connected  with  Christ,  for 
example  any  quantity  of  wood  of  the  true  cross. 
I  asked  my  cupbearer;  "You  are  a  Christian?" 
"Yes,  a  good  Catholic."  The  name  of  the 
wine  had  given  me  a  little  twinge,  and  so  I  en- 
quired further :  "Then  how  dare  you  sell  Christ's 
tears?"  His  response  was  naive  :  "We  sell  our 
guests  what  they  call  for."  Good,  thought  I  to 
myself ;  vult  decipi  et  decipitur  —  I  asked  to  be 
deceived,  and  got  it,  of  course,  by  paying  for  it. 

But  the  multitudinous  shapes  which  this  lava 
takes  are  tremendously  suggestive.  They  carry 
me  back  again  to  the  old  Greek  world,  and  bring 
up  a  part  of  its  mythology  whose  real  side  never 
dawned  on  me  before  when  I  read  it  in  Hesiod — 
the  war  between  the  Gods  and  the  Giants  (or 
Titans).  The  latter  were  depicted  as  monsters 
of  enormous  strength,  many-limbed  and  many- 
headed,  and  were  hurled  sprawling  and  writhing 
and  indeed  dying  upon    the  earth.     Well,  here 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  425 

they  lie,  stiffened  in  their  hist  convulsions,  witii 
their  linit)s  stretched  out  in  ii  kind  of  agony  — 
truly  u  terror  to  behold. 

Titans  I  saw  whoso  limbs    had  been  scattered  all 
over  the  mountain, 
Writhing  still  they  lay  skewered  by  bolts  of 
high  Jove. 
There,  with  bundles  of  limbs  wound  together, 
lay  huge  Hundred-Handed, 
Knotted  in  wrath  are  his  thews,  vain  is  his 
effort  to  rise. 

Thus  I  actually  saw  to  my  own  satisfaction 
the  Giant  Briareus  lying  there,  the  mighty  mons- 
ter with  his  hundred  hands  clutching  seemingly 
for  Zeus,  who  has,  with  his  thunderbolt  laid  out 
the  first  anarchist.  Here  then  is  an  awe-inspir- 
inor  colossal  image  of  Destruction,  yea,  of  De- 
struction  destroj'cd  —  image  made  by  the  first 
artificer,  Nature,  in  her  primordial  work  sho}), 
and  copied,  it  seems  to  me,  by  the  Greek 
Mythus,  especially  in  its  Hesiodic  vein.  For 
Homer  is  different  and  portrays  a  different 
world,  even  if  he  summons  up  Briareus  in  a 
noted  scene,  and  gives  a  glimpse  now  and  then 
into  aTitanesque  background  of  his  clear,  sunny 
Olympian  world. 


426  TBANSIT. 

JBrindisi,  JSfov.  3rd,  1878. 

I  concluded  to  wait  here  three  days  for  the 
Austrian  steamer  which  passes  through  the 
Ionian  Ishmds  and  the  Cyclades ;  thus  I  shall  be 
able  to  get  a  view  of  the  insular  part  of  Greece, 
which  forms  such  an  important  element  in  its 
history  as  well  as  in  its  physical  aspect.  Also 
I  desired  to  bring  up  a  little.  I  had  seen  so 
much  at  Naples  in  so  short  a  time  that  it  was 
necessary  to  have  some  quiet  hours  for  mental 
digestion.  When  I  see  too  much,  without  giv- 
ing adequate  reflection  to  the  objects  seen,  I 
become  cenfused  in  mind,  and  everything  gets  in- 
sipid or  at  least  uninteresting.  To  observe  and 
to  think  are  the  Siamese  Twins,  which  cannot  be 
separated  without  the  risk  of  destroying  both. 
So  the  three  days  have  passed  very  quietly  but 
not  disagreeably;  only  when  I  took  a  walk  down 
to  the  sea  shore  and  looked  across  the  waves, 
did  I  experience  a  longing  to  be  off  for  the 
land  lying  beyond. 

So  1  again  went  through  that  wonderful  town, 
Pompeii,  with  its  treasures  of  art  and  domestic 
economy.  But  I  must  not  at  present  attempt  to 
describe  it  to  you ;  it  has  to  be  seen,  for  it  is  not 
words — it  is  life.  Though  its  inhabitants  are 
all  dead,  it  is  a  vast  dictionary  of  antiquities 
turned  into  vivid  images  or  rather  into  a  sort 
of  vital  activity.     I  regretted  leaving  it  so  soon, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  -^27 

but  I  lu've  promised  myself  a  full  feiist  there  on 
my  return  from  Greece.  As  I  look  buck  upon 
that  buried  city,  I  begin  to  feel  the  first  real 
astonishment ;  while  I  was  walking  through  it  and 
looking  at  it  I  did  not  fully  appreciate  its  won- 
derful character.  So  the  first  view  seldom  in- 
itiates you  into  the  heart  of  the  thing,  or  any 
mere  view;  thoughts  must  follow  in  the  wake  of 
the  eye,  if   the  latter  is  to  have  any  true  vision. 

But  my  mind  has  been  turned  rather  to  what 
1  am  to  see  next  than  to  what  I  have  just  seen. 
Soon  I  shall  be  in  the  waters  of  the  Odyssey: 
just  think  of  it ! 

So  I  was  careful  to  provide  myself  with  a  copy 
of  that  old  Bible,  as  it  may  be  called — Bible  at 
least  for  the  ancient  Hellenic  race,  and  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  of  Holy  Books  it  is 
one  of  the  best.  It  is  the  great  storehouse 
of  typical  forms  which  have  passed  into  the 
lansfuaije  and  conciousness  of  the  European 
peoples ;  })robably  more  of  moral  and  intel- 
lectual symlxds  it  has  furnishe(jl  than  any 
other  book.  But  I  am  done  with  all  these 
terms,  which  I  shall  try  now  to  throw  awajs  and 
simply  enjoy  the  book,  thankful  above  all  things 
that  it  has  been  written  and  that  I  may  read  it, 
nor  shall  I  have  any  quarrel  with  my  neighbor 
who  may  prefer  another  book.  At  present,  how- 
ever, the  Odyssey  is  going  to  be  my  cicerone,  the 
oldest  of  the  kind,  I  venture  to  say,  also  the  best; 


428  TBANSIT. 

for  with  all  its  indications  of  times  and  places, 
it  is  an  inner  spiritual  guide  book,  and  its  outer 
forms  and  movements  are  only  as  a  setting  for  the 
cunning  lore  within.  Still  what  a  delight  it 
will  be  to  snuff  even  the  air  of  those  isles  of  the 
sea  where  its  scene  was  laid !  Thus  I  pass  my 
time  here  in  a  sort  of  dreamy  anticipation,  which 
may  be  far  more  pleasant  than  the  reality,  par- 
ticularly if  sea  sickness  should  happen  to  set  in. 
On  my  way  hither  I  stopped  in  the  seaport 
town  of  Bari,  which  shows  the  difference  be- 
tween old  and  new  Italy  in  the  most  striking 
manner.  The  one  part  of  the  place  has  dirty 
narrow  streets,  with  houses  like  pig-sties  and 
with  denizens  of  Darwinian  tendency ;  you  feel 
narrowed,  choked,  and  incarcerated  in  a  pinfold. 
But  the  other  part  of  the  town  is  active,  broad* 
streeted  and  white ;  how  white  it  looks  beside  its 
neighbor !  This  I  hope,  pre-figures  new  Italy 
everywhere.  Also  I  was  glad  to  see  the  ancient 
filthy  dens  yielding  before  the  white  houses  and 
wide  streets.  But  the  conflict  was  bitter,  bitter 
as  the  clerical  conflict  in  Italy. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  429 

Brindisi,  Nov.  3rd,  1878. 

Horace's  trip  to  Brundisiuni  has  kept  this 
place  in  my  memory  since  school-tlays.  Little 
did  1  then  think  that  I  too  would  make  the 
journey  from  Rome  to  Brundisium  (modern 
Brindisi).  Horace  was  in  company  with  his 
})atron,  ]\hecenas ;  Virgil  and  other  poets  went 
along: ;  also  a  Greek  rhetorician,  Hcliodorus, 
Grmcorum  longe  doctissimus .  What  shall  we 
say  to  this  set  of  men?  Hardly  more  than  a 
decorative  fringe  to  Maecenas,  the  prime  min- 
ister of  the  new  Empire,  traveling  on  affairs  of 
State.  All  Greek  art  has  become  decorative  at 
Rome  and  for  Romans,  whose  business  is  to  rule 
the  world,  not  to  body  it  forth  seriously  in  artis- 
tic forms.  That  one  feels  still  today,  and  is 
what  has  driven  me  out  of  Rome  to  Hellas, 
whose  deepest  vocation  was  that  of  artist,  not 
only  to  Rome  but  to  all  Time.  Even  the  Greek 
marbles  in  the  Vatican  began  to  cry  out  to  me 
audibly  with  a  sort  of  protest: 

Art     must    be    a   true    worship    of    Gods,    not 
merely  enjoyment. 
Goddess  is  the   high  Muse„  scorns  to  be  used 
for  desire. 

Enough  of  that  strain ;  but  let  me  give  you 
one  or  two  glimpses  of  what  I  have  just  passed 
through,  lookins;  back  from  this  half-way  house 


4S0  TRANSIT. 

on  the  road  from  Rome  to  Greece.  Three  things 
have  roused  in  me  a  good  deal  of  thought  and 
more  of  excitement,  which  has  risen  at  times  to 
a  kind  of  fever:  Naples,  Vesuvius,  Pompeii.  Do 
you  know  what  this  trinity  now  calls  up  to  me 
imperiously?  They  show  Life,  Death,  and 
Resurrection,  separately  yet  working  together 
and  bringing  forth  a  strange  harmony  and  unity 
in  my  pre-attuned  soul.  Naples  with  its  half  a 
million  people  is  the  most  lively  and  variegated 
coil  of  human  wrigglers  knotted  closely  together 
that  is  to  be  seen  in  Europe,  probably;  unroll- 
ing a  panorama  bright  and  ever-changing  on  the 
whole,  but  darkened  through  and  through  by 
beggary,  lazzaronism,  and  secret  crime.  Over  it 
hangs  the  Destroyer,  Vesuvius,  at  present  flam- 
ing red  nightly,  the  most  striking  embodiment 
of  ever-threatening  Fate  that  can  be  conceived. 
Here  came  up  that  ancient  world-view  which 
put  such  fearful  stress  upon  the  tragic  Nemesis 
of  existence,  which  actually  seemed  suspended 
over  all  antiquity  and  finally  destroyed  it,  for 
really  it  was  a  tragedy,  as  Aeschylus  long  before- 
hand mightily  conceived  it,  and  as  both  Greece 
and  Rome  mightily  realized  it  afterwards.  Vesu- 
vious  and  Pompeii  smote  me  crushingly  with 
the  idea  that  the  ancient  world  is  one  colossal 
tragedy,  from  which  its  great  poets  and  artists 
have  simply  cut  off  this  and  that  fragment — in 
the  sintjle  little  action  or  event  imaofinoj  and  in- 


A   TOUR  /.V  EUBOPE.  431 

deed  pre-figuriiig  the  one  great  tragic  fatality. 
Another  question  can  not  be  wholly  kept  down, 
thoui^h  unanswered  and  unanswerable  :  Is  modein 
Europe  on  the  way  toward  making  of  itself  a  far 
more  colossal  tragedy? 

Many  an  image  doth  lie  in  thy  ashen  embrace, 
Pompeii, 
Sleeping  the  teons    away   till    the    awakening 
comes ; 
But  of  all   of    the    images   that   lie    hid    in    thy 
bosom, 
Greatest  by  far  is  thyself — Destiny's    image 
art  thou. 

Off  Ithaca,  Nov.  5th,  1878. 

On  the  steamer  we  are  now  plying  through  the 
seas  made  world-famous  by  the  Odyssey.  At 
Corcyra  (Corfu)  where  the  boat  stopped  some 
hours,  I  Avas  made  aware  that  we  had  crossed  the 
line  from  Italy  to  Greece  by  a  number  of  changes. 
The  Greek  costume  (fustanella)  began  to  appear 
frequently,  though  it  was  by  no  means  universal ; 
I  had  seen  it  already  in  Venice  and  Brindisi. 
Tlie  business  signs  over  the  doors  of  the  shops 
were  in  Greek,  and  excited  my  curiosity  hugely. 
I  saw  the  Greek  equivalents  for  cigar  store,  candy 
shop,  grocery  etc.,  in  Greek  letters.  Here 
pours  out  suddenly  upon  me  the  language  of  the 
economic  world,  which    is    certainly  not  prom- 


432  TRANSIT. 

inent  ia  the  old  tongue  of  Hellas,  as  it  has 
come  dowa  to  us.  The  bill-boards  I  ponder 
and  puzzle  over,  often  taking  out  my  pocket  dic- 
tionary for  help,  and  sometimes  not  getting  it. 
At  Corcyral  first  got  hold  of  a  Greek  newspaper, 
and  am  still  digging  away  in  it,  devouring  ad- 
vertisements as  well  as  editorial.  What  can  give 
a  better  picture  of  the  daily  life  of  a  community 
than  a  newspaper?  On  the  whole  I  read  it  with- 
out much  difficulty,  though  I  had  to  laugh  over 
■what  seemed  to  me  at  first  its  grotesqueness. 
For  these  old,  old  words  are  still  bubbling  up 
from  the  living  fountain  of  human  speech,  and 
caper  about  youthfully  in  wholly  new  relations. 
For  instance  the  hack-driver  will  ask  you  if  you 
want  his  hamaxa,  the  very  name  which  the 
Odyssey  gives  to  Nausicaa's  vehicle.  In  the 
main  the  newspaper  employs  Xenophontic  Greek, 
as  I  diagnose  it. 

Glancing  back  at  my  post-Roman  trip  so  far 
and  reviewing  my  notes,  for  which  I  have  time 
on  this  voyage,  I  am  astonished  at  the  number  of 
epigrams  I  have  spouted  forth  out  of  my  inner 
Artesian  well.  More  than  two  dozen  fairly  com- 
plete I  have  counted,  with  fragmentary  dashes 
and  splashes  amounting  to  quite  a  hundred.  The 
whole  way  is  strown  with  these  frisky  little  imps 
which  keep  dancing  through  my  brain  and  give 
me  no  peace.     At  Brindisi  they  took  up  most  of 


A   TOUR  IN  EUBOPE.  433 

niv  time,  plugueing  ine  for  utterance.     And  they 
will  hji\e  their  wuj. 

Yonder  in  the  distance  a  saikn*  [)()ints  out  to 
nie  rocky,  sunny  Ithaca,  low-lying  above  the 
surface  of  the  water,  home  of  Ulysses  and  chief 
scone  of  the  Odyssey.  But  our  vessel  is  not  go- 
ing thither;  it  docs  touch,  however,  at  a  town  in 
Cephalienia,  an  island  which,  though  consider- 
ably larger  than  Ithaca,  is  comparativelvfameless. 
Perhaps  its  best  known  act  was  to  send  its  con- 
tingent of  suitors  for  the  hand  of  Penelope. 

Again  the  Odyssey  has  taken  hold  of  me  in  its 
own  waters,  and  dominates  me  more  strongly 
than  ever.  I  recollect,  in  crossing  the  Atlantic, 
that  the  old  Greek  sea-poem,  came  up  to  me 
mightily  on  view  the  Ocean,  and  drove  me  to 
try  to  realize  its  manifold  marine  deities,  and  to 
put  them  into  some  kind  of  form  for  my  imagin- 
ation. That  seems  now  to  me  a  sort  of  dumb 
instinctive  groping  after  the  chief  boon  of  my 
European  journey.  I  did  not  then  attempt  to 
shape  into  any  utterance  those  fleeting  images — 
I  had  no  form  for  doing  it.  But  now  I  have,  me- 
thiuks,  my  p(jctic  mould  into  which  I  can  pour 
the  very  elusive,  changeful  divinities  of  this 
watery  world.  So  you  see  the  epigrammatic 
mood  still  haunts  me,  and  insists  upon  making 
nic  a  species  of  plastic  artificer  in  words.  In 
fact  the  whole  Oddyssey  is  running  through  my 
head,  transmuted  to  epigrams.      Ulysses,   Alcin- 

28 


434  TRANSIT. 

ous,  its  three  women  (Penelope,  Arete,  Nausicaa; 
have  each  churned  a  separate  versicle,  and  have 
gotten  an  epigrammatic  shred  at  least.  I  am 
sailing  through  the  Greek  sea-world  thronging 
with  an  untold  multitude  of  billowy  shapes,  a  few 
of  which  I  try  to  catch  and  hold  in  an  epigram : 

Look  far  out  on    the  line    of  the  waves,  there 
rises  Poseidon, 
Heaving  the  billows  suggest  presences  subtle 
within ; 
Proteus  ancient,  daughters  of  Nereus,  thousands 
of  daughters, 
Triton,  who  blows  on    his    shell  to  the  deep 
music  of  seas, 
Old  Oceanus,  Tethys    the  mother  with  floods  of 
her  children. 
All  know  their  worshiper  new,  peer  from  the 
waves  and  salute. 

Such  is  my  divine  company ;  do  you  not  envy 
me?  But  I  must  tell  you  the  counterpart.  1 
have  become  acquainted  with  a  human  company 
on  board  the  ship,  Greek  too,  nay  Athenian. 
A  man  and  his  wife  from  Athens  have  furnished 
me  more  amusement  than  I  ever  got  out  of  a 
comedy  of  Aristophanes.  The  husband  speaks 
Italian  well  and  also  Greek;  but  the  woman  can 
talk  only  Greek,  which  is  the  tongue  I  want  to 
practise.  So  I  had  been  conversing  with  hci", 
innocently  enough,  when  she,  without   warning. 


A   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  435 

began  playiug  the    i);u-t    of  match-maker.      She 
had  wormed  out  of  me  that  I  was  a  single  man ; 
of  a  sudden  she  turned    upon  me  and  declared 
that  she  knew,  at  home,  just  the  woman  for  me, 
who  had  also  a  splendid  dower  (proika).    Thus, 
anew  "Maid  of  Athens"  started  to  hovev around 
me  entrancingly  even  before  my  arrival.     The 
wife  mentioned  the  scheme  to  her  husband,  who 
seemed  to  approve.     Ho    was    a   man    of    some 
education,  and  knew  at  least  the  names  of  the  old 
Greek  authors  of  whom  I  was  full.     Somethinsr 
led  him  to  say  that  an  author  or  professor  was 
highly    esteemed  at  Athens.     I  took   the    hint, 
thinking  I  could  add  another  scene  to  the  com- 
edy.    I  went  to  my  valise  and  from  it  brought 
the  two  neatly    bound  volumes  of  the  "System 
of  Shakespeare,"  and  threw  them  down  before 
him,  declaring  my    authorship.     He   looked    at 
them  carefully,  though    he  could  not  read  Eno-- 
lish,  and  then    surveyed    me  from  head  to  foot, 
saying    finally:  "that   work    will    bring   you    a 
dower  of  40,000    drachmas."     He  spoke  to  his 
wife,  implying  that  the  first  girl  had  too  small  a 
dower  for   such  a  book.     So,  you  see  a  second 
"Maid  of  Athens"  advancing   into    my  horizon 
with  charms  more  irresistable  than  the  first.    Do 
you  expect  me   ever   to    get  back  to  St.  Louis 
again?     Of  one  thing  I  feel  certain:  never  there 
shall  I  have  even  the  prospect  of  such  a  prize 
(or  j)rice)  for  my  book. 


436  TRANSIT. 

Syr  a,  N'ov.  6  th,  1878. 

Our  vessel  has  reached  the  ishind  of  Sjra 
(ancient  Syros)  lying  almost  in  the  heart  of  the 
Cyclades  which  are  scattered  about  in  every 
direction.  These  islands  peer  above  the  surface 
of  the  sea  like  hugh  stepping  stones  for  helpi^ig 
man  across  the  ^gean  out  of  Asia  into  Europe. 
In  the  movement  of  the  race  from  Orient  to 
Occident  this  islanded  Greece  must  have  been 
an  important  stage,  training  a  primitive  people 
to  a  mastery  of  the  sea.  Man  here  has  to  be  a 
waterman  as  well  as  a  landman. 

In  the  bay  of  Hermopolis,  chief  city  of  Syra, 
fwe  have  been  transferred  to  a  little  Greek  steam- 
boat which  is  soon  to  start  for  the  Piraeus. 
Thus  my  transition  from  Rome  to  Athens  will 
be  concluded  today  if  nothing  happens.  Part  of 
the  way  has  been  by  land  and  part  by  water, 
but  I  have  been  floating  the  whole  distance  on  a 
sea  of  epigrams  which  have  indeed  been  to  me 
quite  everything. 

Ye  are  the  soul  at    the  helm,    and   ye    are    the 
voice  of  the  helmsman. 
Ye  are  the  sea  and  the  land,  ye  are  the  present 
and  past. 

From  Naples,  then,  where  I  came  upon  this 
peculiar  sea  (or  rather  it  came  upon  me)  I  have 
been  sailing  on  an  upper  epigrammatic  voyage, 


A  TOUn  ly  EUROPE.  4  5  7 

11  coimterpjirt  yet  also  :i  relU-'cLioii  of  the  lower 
terrestrial  journey.  [^Editorial  N'ofe  —  Under 
the  name  of  Epigrammatic  Voyage  the  above- 
mentioned  collection  of  e{)igram8  was  printed  in 
1886,  and  afterwards  (in  1892)  was  embraced  in 
the  book  called  I^)'07'sus  Re.lrorsus~\. 


Htbene. 

Athens,  Nov.  7th,  1878. 

Yesterday  evening  our  little  boat,  after  a 
tumbling  passage  which  upset  everybody  except 
the  toughest  sea-dogs,  sailed  into  the  harbor  of 
the  Pirfeus,  which  has  so  great  a  place  in  the 
World's  History.  A  little  railroad  carries  the 
crowd  to  Athens,  where  I  am  now  located  in  fair 
quarters  and  have  started  to  work.  Passing 
from  the  station,  I  could  see  the  Parthenon  and 
the  Theseion,  the  two  remaining  ancient  tem- 
ples, whose  look  seemed  to  convey  a  friendly 
salutation  to  the  stranger. 

That  I  would  push  eastward  as  far  as  Athens, 
I  hardly  dared  dream  in  St.  Louis.  And  yet  I 
wished  it,  and  indeed  was  more  deeply  bent  upon 
(438) 


A  TOUR  IN  EUBOPE.  439 

it  than  I  was  aware  of.  Looking  back,  1  can 
SCO  that  a  European  tour  would  lose  for  me  its 
true  purpose,  wwukl  be  but  a  fragment,  a  pitiful 
torso,  unless  it  peiletrated  to  the  heart  of  Hellas. 
And  now  the  end  has  been  reached,  though  by 
no  means  yet  fulfilled.  Still  I  feel  a  satisfaction 
here  that  I  did  not  experience  at  Eome,  though 
my  delight  there  was  great  and  prolonged. 
Greece  is  certainly  the  fountain-head  of  Euro- 
pean culture,  and  should  be  the  fountain-head  of 
a  European  journey  which  is  seeking  to  follow 
the  stream  of  that  culture  to  its  source. 

Today  I  have  been  borne  back  in  memory  to 
my  college  days,  quite  twenty  years  since.  The 
instruction  in  Greek  was  passable,  but  not  very 
stimulating.  Still,  as  a  Freshman,  I  read  not 
only  the  four  required  books  of  the  Odyssey, 
but  the  whole  poem  in  Greek,  and  took  some 
dips  into  the  Iliad.  I  have  never  lost  the 
Homeric  dialect  and  the  hexametral  swing  from 
that  day  to  this;  indeed,  every  year  since  then  I 
have  kept  my  Homer  alive  by  fresh  reading,  or 
by  instruction.  And  I  shall  tell  you  something 
more,  as  I  am  in  the  line  of  recalling  my  youth- 
ful experiences  in  Greek,  Though  my  words 
may  have  the  appearance  of  boasting,  I  cannot 
otherwise  fully  account  for  my  presence  in 
Athens  today.  As  a  young  student  of  about  18 
and  19,1  felt  strangely  drawn  to  the  old  Greek 
Historian  Herodotus,  whose  theme  is  the    liiith 


440  ATHENS. 

of  the  Greek  historic  world  through  the  Persian 
War.  As  a  modern  commentary  on  the  ancient 
narrative  I  read  Grote's  History  of  Greece;  I 
had  also  Rawlinson's  translation  and  notes,  as 
far  as  they  had  then  appeared.  I  believe  I  may 
say  that  the  spirit  of  historic  Hellas  was  born 
into  mine  through  those  studies  of  Herodotus. 
The  names  which  I  hear  everywhere  ringing 
around  me  —  Salamis,  Aegina,  Acropolis  and 
hundreds  of  others  —  are  as  familiar  to  me  as  if 
I  had  lived  here  all  my  days,  or  rather  as  if  I 
had  been  here  in  some  former  existence  whose 
impressions  I  am  now  recalling  by  a  kind  of  Pla- 
tonic reminiscence.  It  is  indeed  a  unique  feel- 
ing to  go  to  places  in  which  you  know  you  have 
never  been  before,  yet  which  are  well-known  to 
you,  and  even  dear.  I  have  pored  over,  in  my 
life-time,  the  map  of  Greece  more  than  the  map 
of  my  own  country,  and  Greek  cities,  provinces 
and  seas  are  engraved  upon  my  brain  so  deeply 
that  I  seem  now  to  be  coming  back  to  my  own, 
rather  than  going  forward. 

Herodotus  is,  therefore,  my  guide-book  still, 
having  given  me  the  original  idea  which  is  now 
simply  taking  on  before  my  eyes  the  vesture  of 
reality.  But  here  I  may  tell  you  of  another 
youthful  exploit  of  mine  in  Greek.  After  He- 
rodotus comes  Thucydides  in  the  natural  se- 
quence of  History,  probably  the  most  difficult 
Greek  author,  with    the  exception  of  Aristotle. 


A  TOUR  L\  EUROPE.  441 

Iliiii,  too,  I  read  during  College  days,  though  he 
was  not  ill  the  course  at  all.  He  gives  the  inner 
disintegration  of  that  historic  Greece  of  which 
Herodotus  gives  the  integration,  as  far  as  it  ever 
did  integrate.  It  is  on  the  whole  a  melancholy 
negative  book,  es[)ecially  in  its  Athenian  part, 
whose  tale  is  the  unmaking  of  that  of  which  He- 
rodotus tells  the  .making.  Still,  I  once  read  it 
with  an  al)sorl)ing,  yea,  deeply  emotional  inter- 
est—  that  unemotional,  impassive  History.  And 
the  reason  was  that  my  own  country  was  pass- 
ing through  a  crisis  of  inner  sei)aration  similar  to 
that  of  the  Greece  of  Thucydides.  In  1861  I 
was  staying  at  a  little  Ohio  town,  Iberia  by 
name,  enijased  in  teaching  Greek  as  the  main 
branch.  South  Carolina  and  the  cotton  states 
were  seceding,  Lincoln  entered  upon  the  Presi- 
dency, when  the  whole  Union  seemed  to  be  fall- 
ing to  pieces.  In  such  a  time  I  tackled  Thucyd- 
ides, undoubtedly  with  the  help  of  translations 
and  commentaries.  Very  often  his  words  would 
directly  apply  to  the  political  situation  in  my 
very  presence.  His  long  story  grew  darker  as 
it  went  on  toward  the  close  of  the  Peloponnesiau 
War  (which  close  he  does  not  quite  reach).  Is 
that  to  be  the  course  of  our  conflict?  Y\'\\\  our 
war  last  twenty-seven  years,  or  the  tenth  of  it? 
Thus,  during  that-  destiny-laden  time  I  brooded 
over  Thucydides,  whose  impartial  tone  had  the 
power    of    thrusting    into    me    dagger    blows  of 


442  ATHENS. 

painful  anxiety,  whose  cold  words  could  often 
throw  me  into  feverish  thrills  of  frightful  pre- 
sentiment. So,  I  have  good  reason  to  remem- 
ber Thucydides  and  also  his  Athens,  which  was  at 
the  start  that  of  Pericles,  and  which  continually 
stands  now  before  me  in  the  Parthenon  as  its 
supreme  visible  manifestation.  By  the  way,  I 
ought  to  add  that  Thucydides  does  warm  up  very 
perceptibly  when  he  comes  to  that  fateful  turn- 
ing-point for  Athens,  the  Sicilian  expedition,  in 
narrating  which  he  grows  pathetikos  (the  word 
of  old  Greek  critic).  Of  course  the  result  of 
our  Civil  War  turned  out  the  reverse  of  the 
Grecian,  so  that  Thucydides  was  not  its  prophet 
in  spite  of  my  many  forebodings. 

These  two  Historians,  Herodotus  andThucj'd- 
ides,  form  the  background  in  my  own  soul-life 
for  ancient  and  also  for  modern  Athens.  As 
such  I  am  bringing  them  up  before  myself,  as 
well  as  recounting  the  fact  to  you,  who  are  in- 
terested in  what  is  going  on  within  me.  Still, 
my  strongest  creative  impulse  does  not  run  to- 
ward history,  but  toward  poetry.  And  what  I 
wish  particularly  to  penetrate  is  not  the  historic 
expression  of  Greece  but  the  artistic.  I  would 
certainly  take  delight  in  reading  again  those  old 
Historians  here  at  Athens,  to  which  both  of  them 
essentially  belonged,  even  if -Herodotus  was  born 
at  Halicarnassus.  Then,  it  is  still  their  lan- 
guage,   Sundaiflentally,    which    I    talk    on    the 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  443 

streets,  hear  ut  the  University  and  read  in  the 
newspapers.  Thus  those  two  old  friends  of 
thousands  of  years  ago  begin  to  have  a  presence 
for  lue  and  even  to  talk  to  me  with  an  intimacy 
which  is  not  elsewhere  possible.  Also  to  go 
over  Grote  again — that  old  Athenian  democrat 
damniuor  the  aristocrats  and  defending  the  dema- 
wosues  of  Athens  in  modern  London,  with  a 
partisan  conviction  which  makes  his  big  book 
very  interesting  to  me  —  I  would  certain  like, 
but  I  dare  not  think  of  it  on  this  trip.  I  am  too 
much  occupied  with  something  else,  another  end 
is  impelling  me,  and  the  epigrammatic  mood 
dominates  me  still. 

Athens,  Nov.  26th,  1878. 

I  am  now  pretty  fully  established  here,  so  that 
I  besin  to  feel  at  home.  Just  now  I  am  lodged 
in  the  house  of  an  American  Missionary  who  has 
left  the  city  for  three  weeks  and  who  asked  me 
to  occupy  his'quartcrs  till  he  returns.  He  hardly 
knows  what  a  heathen  he  has  taken  under  his 
roof,  else  he  might  have  found  missionary  work 
at  home.  I  have  often  tried  to  laugh  at  the  in- 
congruities of  this  world;  I,  for  instance,  have 
traveled  so  far  in  order  to  behold,  study  and 
reverence  the  works  of  heathens,  and  I  often 
\on^  to  attain  some  portion  of  their  culture  and 
excellence ;  while  a  number  of  my  good  friends 
here  have  traveled  so  far  in  order  to  convert  the 


444  ATHENS. 

heathen.  Somehow  I  have  fallen  into  a  sort  of 
colony  of  these  American  Missionaries  who  have 
their  headquarters  at  Athens;  they  are  certainly 
very  kind  and  ai^reeable,  and  I  like  them 
much.  But  lean  not  help  thinking  of  the  almost 
infinite  difference  between  their  aim  and  mine; 
this  necessarily  prevents,  or  has  prevented  thus 
far,  the  ultimate  bond  of  sympathy,  yet  my  at- 
tachment is  growing. 

My  thoughts,  however,  are  wholly  in  the 
ancient  world  which  had  its  outer  appearance 
herein  these  old  edifices,  streets  and  hills.  The 
imagination  acquires  the  habit  of  throwing  your 
life  back  into  that  remote  period;  when  you  look 
at  an  object,  you  always  try  to  think  how  it  ap- 
peared then  and  who  beheld  it  then.  Nor  is  there 
much  here  to  disturb  your  reveries;  trade  does 
not  intrude  itself  with  its  thousandfold  noises  upon 
you;  no  manufactories  darken  these  sunny 
heights  and  plains  with  smoke  and  soot;  every- 
where Nature  seems  to  sav :  "I  am  as  I  was  2,000 
years  ago — look  upon  me." 

As  to  myself  personally,  I  am  now  wrestling 
with  the  language — this  is  my  chief  business. 
Not  that  I  care  so  much  for  modern  Greek,  but 
through  it  I  hope  to  acquire  some  of  the  instinct 
of  the  ancient  tongue.  Of  modern  tongues  there 
are  many  which  compete  with  modern  Greek ; 
but  the  ancient  stands  alone  in  the  history  of 
culture  and  has  no  competitor.       I  go  daily  to 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  446 

the   University  where  I   heiir  a   lecture  or  two ; 
this  is  good  practice  for  the  ear.      I  visit  some- 
times  the    Bouleterion   or    House  of  Represen- 
tatives; there  I  chiefly  hear  the  noise,  in  niakinoj 
which  the  members  are  very  successful.       Then 
I  take  a  stroll  among  the  booths    and  among  the 
artisans;  here  I  see  many  a  lively  i)ictuve  which 
probably  has  come  down  from  the  ancient  city. 
But  my  chief  delight  is  to  take  a  long  walk  in 
the  valleys  and  on  the  hills  with  which  Athens  is 
surrounded.     To-day  I  went  to  the  Piraeus,  the 
seaport    of  the  city,  and    passed    through    the 
tields  and  vineyards  instead  of  taking  the  main 
road.     There  was  a  mood  in    the   landscape;  it 
was  quiet,  yet  varied,  and  I  may  say,  happy.  In 
the  fields  along  the  Ilissus  were  many  larks,  gay 
with  songs;  in  the  vineyards  down    by   the  sea 
the  grapes  were  still  hanging  ;  some  peasants,  you 
would  think  by  their  rude  jollity,  were  celebrat- 
ing  a   festival   of   Bacchus.     A   boy  plucked   a 
bunch  for  me,  fresh  from  the  vines;    in  eating 
them  I  thought  I  discovered  why  the  old   Greek 
had  a  God  of  grapes.     However   I    suppose  it  is 
the    atmosphere    of    the    imagination    which    is 
subtly  spread  over  this  scenery  and  which   gives 
it  such  a  peculiar  poetical  tone,  for  you  seem  to 
be  reading  a    poem    all  the  time.     Then  these 
draughts  of  Attic  air — there  is  something  in  them 
which  transforms  you;  you  begin  to  see  how  this 


446  ATHENS. 

nature,   transmuted    through    the  feelings  and 
fancy,  furnishes  a  setting  for  an  art-world. 


Athens,  Dec.  7th,  1878. 

It  is  an  actual  fact — here  I  am  in  Athens  and 
have  been  here  now  a  month.  It  seems  hardly 
credible  to  myself;  till  recently  not  even  my 
dreams  had  the  audacity  to  promise  me  that  I 
should  ever  tread  the  streets  of  this  city.  But  I 
am  gradually  getting  used  to  the  situation,  and 
the  land  is  passing  out  of  the  borders  of  the 
dream-world  into  a  reality.  Many  prosaic  mat- 
ters have  to  be  looked  after;  a  dishonest  shop- 
keeper destroys  your  humor  for  a  time  by  a 
piece  of  roguery ;  but  the  worst  trouble  is  the  dogs 
prolific  here  beyond  calculation,  and  infesting 
both  city  and  country.  As  you  wander  through 
some  ruin  enjoying  your  fancies,  or  saunter 
along:  the  road  lookino^  at  the  rural  scenes  before 
you,  suddenly  you  are  called  upon  to  defend  your- 
self against  a  cur  which  has  slipped  up  behind 
you  and  is  trying  to  take  a  slice  of  fresh  meat 
out  of  the  calf  of  your  leg.  But  these  are  small 
matters,  very  small  indeed,  compared  to  the  de- 
lights of  a  visit  to  this  country — merely  fleeting 
spots  on  the  sun  of  your  happiness.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  about  the  matter.  Greece  is  different 
from  all  the  other  lands  on  the  globe,  different 
even  from  Eome;   for  beside  its    own  glorious 


A  TOUR  Jy  EUROPE.  447 

atmosphere  given  to  it  by  Nature,  it  has  also  an 
atmosphere  of  Poetry,  which  belongs  to  it  and 
colors  it  with  all  the  hues  of  the  Imagination.  Mark 
this  second  atmosphere  which  you  are  always 
breathing  here,  and  out  which  you  never  come, 
except  by  some  rude  jostle — this  is  the  boon  of 
Athens  which  she  still  gives  the  stranger,  peer- 
ing out  of  her  ragged  and  ruined  shreds. 

Just  to  the  east  of  the  city  lies  Ilymettus,  a 
mountain  famous  both  in  ancient  and  modern 
times  for  its  delicious  honey.  Through  the  clear 
air  it  seems  to  lie  next  door  to  you ;  but  it  is 
really  several  miles  distant;  then  the  ridge  of  it 
runs  along  so  distinct  against  the  blue  sky  be- 
yond. I  can  see  it  from  my  window,  and  often 
I  have  longed  to  ascend  its  summit  and  to  walk 
the  whole  length  of  the  sky-line,  phmting  my  out- 
lines as  it  were  on  the  Heavens.  Well  a  day  or 
two  ago  I  rose  early  and  started  for  the  moun- 
tain. I  believe  I  shall  always  remember  that 
day ;  it  was  certainly  one  of  the  happiest  of  my 
life,  yet  I  was  all  alone,  walking  over  rocks  and 
brushing  through  briimbles.  The  delight  lay  in 
the  mood  which  the  mountain,  the  scenery  and 
the  sunlight  excited  within  me ;  but  how  or  why 
such  an  effect  was  produced  is  more  than  I  can 
tell.  It  was  as  if  an  idyl  of  Theocritus  was  hum- 
ming through  me  all  the  time;  the  day  was 
glorious,  flowers  were  springing  up  through  the 
crevices,  the  bee  and  butterflies  were  out — it  was 


448  ATHENS. 

spring  in  December.  To  the  view  there  was  no 
obstacle;  here  on  one  side  hiy  the  sea 
with  the  islands  JEgina  and  Salamis  tipped 
with  a  light  blue  haze ;  in  front  lay  Athens 
crowned  with  the  Acropolis ;  while  far  up  the 
valley  of  the  Ilissus  villas  and  hamlets  sent  forth 
white  glimmerings  from  among  the  olive  trees. 
Nature  played  upon  me  as  upon  an  instrument, 
attuning  me  exactly  to  her  own  mood  —  wnat  if 
I  could  only  utter  her  music?  I  tell  you  it  is  no 
wonder  that  those  old  Athenians  had  so  much 
harmony  within  them ;  their  poetry,  their  art, 
the  Acropolis  are  simply  the  exalted  expression 
of  what  I  heard  on  the  Hymettus.  So  I  wan- 
dered all  day  over  that  ridge  against  the  blue 
sky,  alone  yet  in  good  company,  I  think  —  dis- 
turbed only  once  by  a  solitary  goatheard  with 
his  flock.  But  that  hum  which  kept  running 
through  me,  lighting  up  its  way  by  all  sorts  of 
radiant  images  —  I  wish  I  could  convey  it  to  you 
in  some  manner;  then  1  am  sure  you  would  hear 
a  touch  of  Apollo's  lyre  and  see  the  Nymphs 
and  the  Graces  dancing  in.  his  train  over  the 
fields. 

But  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  no  instrument  to 
convey  such  delicate  sounds  so  great  a  distance ; 
so  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  have  eaten  of  the 
honey  of  Hymettus,  the  poetical  honey  gathered 
by  the  Grecian  bees  from  the  flowers  of  the 
mountains.     The  difiiculty    is  that  it  has  to  be 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE.  449 

consumed  on  the  spot,  not  ])eing  an  article  of 
commerce.  Still  I  may  be  able  to  compress  a 
little  of  the  sweet  dew  into  some  little  box  or 
other,  by  which  I  may  bring  you  a  small  sip, 
just  enough  to  make  you  glad  once.  What  do 
you  think  I  am  talking  about? 

A  few  evenings  ago  !•  was  invited  to  a  Greek 
supper,  on  the  occasion  of  some  festival.  Of 
course  the  roast  beef  and  turkey  were  quite  what 
they  are  everywhere,  perhaps  not  so  good  as 
in  England  or  America,  But  around  the  floral 
decorations  and  the  fruits  there  was  a  certain 
Oriental  air  which  is  always,  to  the  mind,  filled 
with  the  fragrance  of  strange  sweetmeats  and 
spices.  The  confectionery  has  a  peculiar  taste 
derived  from  an  aromatic  gum  named  mastic, 
which  comes  from  the  island  of  Scio;  it  has  a 
pleasant  languid  flavor  which  recalls  the  idle 
luxury  of  the  Turkish  harem  where  the  ladies 
are  said  to  find  their  chief  amusement  in  chew- 
ing this  gum.  Then  a  box  was  brought  before 
me  filled  with  the  figs  of  Smyrna  mingled  among 
kernels  of  nuts  which  I  had  not  seen  before; 
their  fragrance  was  delicious  and  subtly  diffused 
itself  through  the  whole  room.  But  my  chief 
surprise  was  excited  by  a  new  kind  of  sweet- 
meat—  new  to  me  at  least,  namely  preserved 
roseleaves.  pid  you  ever  hear  of  any  such  thing, 
my  dear  Miss?  They  tasted  quite  as  the  flower 
smells;  they  seemed  to  possess    the  quality  of 

29 


450  ATHENS. 

transferring  a  pleasant  odor  to  the  tongue,  there- 
by delighting  two  senses  together.  Thus  flowers 
are  preserved  here,  preserved  doubly,  in  these 
rose-flavored  sweetmeats;  they  furnish  their 
fragrant  repast  to  the  Greeks  and  to  the  guests 
of  the  Greeks ;  so  we  have  become  flower-eaters 
in  this  happy  clime,  feasting  the  days  away  like 
the  ancient  lotus-eaters.  But  rose-preserves  are 
a  reality,  believe  me. 

There  are    no  galleries  of  art  in  Athens,  and 
the  antiquities  are  not  so  plentiful,  or  in  as  good 
condition   as  those    of  Kome.     Still  the  ancient 
remains  have  a  charm  of  their  own,  the  charm  of 
originality.     On    this    spot    were   produced  the 
types  which  control  the  Fine  Arts  today ;  there 
has  been  no  improvement  on  the  Greek  column, 
on  the   Phidian  statue,    and    probably   the    old 
painters  were  equally  great    in  their  line.     The 
Acropolis  is  still  the  center  of  interest,  as  in  the 
ancient  days.     Certainly,  of  the  beautiful  things 
which  have  been  produced  on  our  earth,  this  was 
one — shall   we   not   say,  the  one?     It  rises  up 
over  the  city  like  a  Heaven,  it  hangs  yonder  like 
an  ideal  world  toward  which  the  people  below  in 
the  valley  must  ever  strive,  and  which  they  may 
by  happy  effort  attain.     On   its  summit  are  the 
temples    of  the  Gods,  still  lying  in  repose  and 
sunlight;  it  is  the  realization  of  the   Olympian 
residence,  with  its  many  palaces  of  the  deities, 
toward  which  the  old  Greek  turned  up  his  eyes 


I 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  451 

in  lofty  aspiration.  It  is  strange  how  the  Acrop- 
olis dominates  the  city  below ;  everywhere  you 
see  it  and  seem  directly  under  it,  while  it  forces 
you  to  carry  your  look  upward  to  the  abodes  of 
the  Gods  on  its  heiij^hts.  Was  not  that  an  in- 
calculable  means  of  culture  in  itself  —  to  have 
such  objects  falling  into  the  eye  whenever  it 
looks  up?  The  Athenian  populace  had  thus  a 
training  in  the  sense  of  beauty  and  harmony 
which  they  carried  over  into  Poetry  and  into 
Life;  they  were  the  best  judges  of  the  Drama 
and  of  Art  generally.  Sunny  Olympus  turned 
into  marble  —  that  is  the  Acropolis. 

I  usually  take  my  morning  walk  around  the 
Acropolis,  and  look  up  to  its  summit  not  without 
a  feeling  of  reverence.  Even  its  ruins  breathe 
a  harmony  which  perhaps  no  other  structure  can 
produce;  and  when  lit  up  by  the  rising  sun, 
while  the  city  below  is  still  lying  in  the  shadow 
of  the  eastern  hills,  the  heights  begin  to  sing, 
the  architectural  harmony  becomes  vocal.  It  is 
no  longer  a  wonder  to  me  that  the  old  statue  of 
Memnon  was  gifted  with  a  voice  when  struck  by 
the  first  morning  ray.  I  had  intended  to  take 
you  inside  of  the  Acropolis  today  and  to  show 
you  around  a  little  on  my  pen's  point;  but  I 
have  already  filled  up  the  space  of  ray  letter,  and 
you  will  have  to  remain  outside  now  some  weeks 
probably.  In  the  meanwhile  I  intend  to  give  it 
a  great  deal  more  study,  for  its  edifices,  like  all 


452  ATHENS. 

great  works  of  Art,  refuse  to  reveal  their  best 
secret  to  the  first  ghince  of  any  observer. 

I  have  only  one  little  flower  to  send  you  this 
time,  I  plucked  it  from  the  top  of  Hymettus, 
and  laid  it  in  my  note-book  over  a  piece  of 
poetry ;  so  you  must  imagine  it  possessing  a 
double  fragrance.  It  remains  in  bloom  during 
the  winter  months,  as  some  people  told  me ;  it  is 
also  the  main  flower  to  which  the  bee  resorts  for 
his  stores  during  this  period.  To  thrive  on  the 
rocks,  to  grow  during  the  winter,  to  offer  so 
freely  its  bloom,  its  odour,  its  honey  — what  a 
brave  little  flower!  I  cannot  help  comparing  it 
to  some  imaginary  Greek  maiden  who  in  the 
olden  time  came  out  of  her  cabin  on  these  hills 
and  offered  to  the  wayfarer  sweet  refreshments 
and  her  sweeter  presence.  At  this  picture  I 
must  quit  you.     Good  bye. 


Athens,  Dec.  7th,  1878. 

I  am  very  much  obliged  for  your  kind  offers ; 
and  it  may  be  that  I  shall  accept  some  or  all  of 
them.  But  at  this  distance  I  can  not  make  any 
definite  plans ;  I  shall  first  have  to  find  out  the 
state  of  my  finances,  to  see  what  the  outlook  is 
at  St.  Louis ;  in  fine  I  shall  have  to  wait  till  I  re- 
turn to  America  before  beojinniusf  to  live  there. 
Also  I  agree  perfectly  with  what  you  say  about  the 
little  girl ;  she  must  learn  to  make  her  own  things 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  453 

and  to  be  economical,  along  with  her  education 
and  other  acconipiitimcnts.  These  mattei»  you 
must  aid  nio  in  looking  after,  and  your  help  will 
be  most  gratefully  received  both  by  her  and  by 
me. 

I  would  certainly  like  to  remain  in  Cincinnati 
with  my  kindred  when  I  return  ;  but  if  I  can  not, 
there  is  an  end  of  the  matter.  If  I  do  stay,  it 
will  not  be  to  lie  around  and  wait  for  a  situation 
as  a  Professor.  I  do  not  wish  you  or  any  other 
relative  to  push  any  claims  of  mine;  people  can 
find  out  far  more  about  me  than  you  can  tell 
them,  for  my  career  both  as  a  teacher  and  as  a 
writer  has  not  been  wholly  in  the  dark.  But 
there  is  time  enough  to  talk  over  these  matters 
when  you  see  my  face  lit  up  by  your  parlor  fire. 

Under  any  circumstances  I  shall  try  to  arrange 
my  affairs  so  that  I  can  pass  some  time  with 
father.  It  will  certainly  be  my  greatest  pleasure 
to  be  with  him  in  his  old  age.  I  want  his  com- 
pany while  be  is  herein  this  w^orld,  even  if  he  is 
so  certain  that  he  will  not  be  separated  from  me 
in  the  next.  I  have  gathered  a  good  deal  of 
material  abroad  which,  I  think,  would  entertain 
bini,  possibly  would  rejuvenate  him  a  little.  For 
this  is  the  effect  of  the  journey  upon  me :  it  has 
brought  me  back  to  youth,  to  the  studies,  feel- 
ings and  dreams  of  my  boyhood,  even  when 
some  hairs  are  beginning  to  bleach  upon  my 
temples. 


454  ATHENS. 

A  few  days  ago  I  was  called  upon  by  a  Cin- 
cinnati    boy    who    has    made    extensive    tours 
through  Europe  on  foot.     After  remaining  sev- 
eral months  at  the  Paris  Exposition  in  the  em- 
ploy of  the  American  Commission,  he  concluded 
that  he  would  spend  his  little  cash  in  seeing  the 
world.     One    of    his    feats    was    to    walk    from 
Munich    to  Padua  through  the  Tyrolese   Alps, 
stopping  at  the  houses  of  the  peasants  on  the  way 
for  his    food  and  lodging.     He  came  down  the 
Danube  by  steamboat,  making,  as  he  said,  only 
one  short  trip  in  Turkey  on  account  of  dearness 
of  living  and  on  account  of  the  desolation  caused 
by  the  recent  war.     "One  short  trip"  I  asked — 
"how    far?"     "Only    200   miles."     I    did    not 
consider  that  stretch  so  small,  particularly  in  un- 
settled,   barbarous   Turkey.      From   Athens  he 
was  going  to  make  the  tour  of  Greece  and  then 
go  over  to  the  Holy  Land.     A  boy  with  so  much 
courage  and  adventure  is  the  growth  only  of  the 
American  soil ;  Europe,  as  a  rule  does  not  pro- 
duce him.       He  wanted  me  to  go  with  him  over 
Greece,  but  I  was  so  tied  by  other  engagements 
that  I  could  not  accept  his  proposal.     So  he  set 
out  alone,  and  is  now  probably   weathering  the 
snows  of  Arcadia. 

I  have  just  come  from  church  where  I  heard  a 
Presbyterian  sermon  in  Greek  preached  by  a 
minister  here  who  has  been  very  friendly  to  me. 
His  wife   is    an   American   lady    from  Boston, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUBOPE.  455 

though  he  is  a  native  Greek,  educ:ited  chiefly,  I 
believe,    in    the    United    States.      I    also  go    to 
prayer  meeting,  not,  alas!  to  pray,  but  in  order 
to  learn  religious  Greek.     The  nearest  I  come  to 
devotion  is   when  I  look  up  to  the  top  of  the 
Acropolis,  or  when  I  enter  the  ruined  colonnade 
of  some  Heathen  temple.     Christianity,  as  mani- 
fested   here   at  Athens    in  the  Byzantine  mum- 
mery of  the  priests  and  in  the  frightful  dishonesty 
of  the  people,  seems  a    relapse    into  barbarism 
compared  to  the  ancient  Hellenic  world.      Yet  I 
like  the  Greeks  exceedingly.     They  are  trying  to 
redeem  themselves,  they  have   aspiration;   they 
are  impi'oving,  and  they  are  certain  to  bring  about 
the   gr^at   Palingenesis   in   their  nation.     Any 
people   which  shows    as    much  ideal  striving  as 
the}'  are   doing,    can  not    help    winning    in    the 
end.     But  just  now  the  realitv    is  not  attractive 
on  all   sides;  the  truth  is,  if  you  wish  to  enjoy 
Athens,  you  must  flee  back  in  imagination  to  the 
old  Heathen  City  and  People. 

You  speak  of  snow  and  cold  weather.  Noth- 
ing of  the  kind  is  here.  As  I  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow now,  the  sun  is  shinino;  with  a  mild  autum- 
nal  glow,  flowers  are  in  bloom,  grapes  fresh  from 
the  vine  are  still  hawked  about  on  the  streets,  no 
fire  is  required  in  the  houses ;  so  the  weather 
continues,  with  a  few  interruptions,  through  the 
whole  winter.  It  is  a  bland  climate,  though  the 
heat  of  the  summer  is  said  to  be  severe.      How 


456  ATHENS. 

long  I  shall  remain  I  do  not  know ;  long  enough 
at  least  to  gorge  my  brain  with  pleasant  images 
suflficient  to  last  through  life.  Every  day  I  take 
long  walks  through  city  and  suburbs  and  am  sure 
to  meet  with  some  little  incident  or  object  which 
leaves  behind  an  agreeable  memento  for  the 
future. 

Athens,  Dec.  10th,  1878. 

I  suppose  that  this  letter  will  find  you  in  the 
very  muck  of  prose  — casting  up  accounts,  mak- 
ing out  balances,  weighing  and  calculating,  with 
all  the  other  activities  of  the  vigorous  business- 
man. How  do  you  like  such  work,  after  having 
taken  your  grand  flight  through  the  poetical 
regions  of  Europe?  Let  me  beg  you  to  keep 
your  pinions  in  practice  and  spread  them  often 
high  in  air;  don't  let  them  get  sticky  by  flapping 
too  much  on  the  earth.  As  you  see  by  the 
superscription  of  this  letter,  I  have  pushed  still 
farther  toward  the  sun ;  this  dull  terrestrial  glod 
of  mine  may  now  be  truly  said  to  be  in  peri- 
helion, whence,  however,  it  must  soon  recede. 
That  is,  I  have  reached  the  extreme  point  of  my 
travels  toward  the  East,  the  next  is  to  return. 

You,  as  the  lover  of  Art,  will  first  ask  me 
about  the  Parthenon.  Though  I  see  it  many 
times  every  day  at  a  distance,  looking  down  from 
its  serene  01ym[)ian  height,"  I  have  been  inside 
of  it,  as  yet,  only    once,  and  it  would    be    bias- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  457 

phcmy  in  me  to  judge  of  such  a  great  work  on 
one  slight  inspection.  But  I  may  give  you  two 
words  which  sound  lioUow  by  themselves  us 
mere  language,  but  which,  when  interpreted  by 
this  structure,  have  an  Oceanic  dei)th  of  mean- 
ing: these  words  are  simplicity  and  gi-audeur. 
Fuse  these  two  terms  into  one  vivid  thought  and 
imagine  to  yourself  its  perfect  representation  in 
Art — and  you  will  begin  to  see  the  Parthenon 
before  you. 

It  is  battered  to  pieces,  marks  of  cannon 
balls  can  be  seen  on  the  walls  of  the  Cella,  many 
columns  are  lying  prostrate  and  broken,  it  has 
been  calcined  b}'  fire  and  eaten  by  the  air,  and 
worst  of  all,  it  is  rent  or  rather  exploded 
asunder  in  the  middle,  so  that  the  finest  lines  for 
the  eye  are  h^st — still  it  is  now  the  most  beauti- 
ful of  temples,  not  the  largest,  not  the  most 
impressive  or  awe-inspiring,  but  the  most  beau- 
tiful. Every  part  is  treated  in  the  same  free 
large  style  which  reminds  you  of  Pericles  and 
the  great  age ;  it  is  not  a  world  of  small  details 
in  whose  infinitude  the  grand  "Whole  is  lost. 
Your  foot  stumbles  against  a  piece  of  a  broken 
column  in  the  rubbish — it  is  a  mirror  of  the  total 
edifice.  Even  the  steps  are  a  delight  to  look 
upon,  and  are  one  with  the  temple  and  with  the 
arms  of  Helius ;  the  large  round  letters  engraved 
in  the  marble  as  well  as  the  columns  breathe  the 
same  great  spirit  in  the  happiest  harmony. 


458  ATHENS. 

We  involuntarily  inquire  after  the  men  who 
could  plan  and  build  such  works.  For  the 
Parthenon  lay  in  the  soul  with  all  its  beauty  and 
proportion  before  it  sprang  into  reality ;  it  is 
only  an  utterance  of  a  harmony  which  already 
existed  in  the  spirit  of  some  individual  or  nation. 
You  say  to  yourself  on  that  hill  of  the  Acrop- 
olis :  Pericles  and  his  associates  were  the  most 
harmoniaus  characters  that  ever  lived.  His  Age 
was  the  great  musical  Age;  at  its  touch  every- 
thing turned  into  music  :  speech  and  stone,  body 
and  soul ;  truly  an  age  whose  statesmen  even 
were  inspired  by  the  Muses. 

The  sensation  here  is  different  from  that  of 
Italy,  though  it  would  be  hard  to  tell  in  words 
wherein  the  difference  consists.  The  mood  is 
lighter,  more  rhythmical ;  you  have  a  Pindaric 
lyre  in  you  all  the  time,  which  begins  to  play 
quite  loudly  when  you  go  out  on  a  fine  day  into 
the  mountains.  My  chief  delight  is  to  climb  the 
hills  and  wander  through  the  valleys  near  the 
city.  There  is  something  which  sets  me  to  vi- 
brating inwardly  whenever  I  take  a  walk  in  these 
happy  places;  the  influence  is  very  subtle  and 
hardly  traceable ;  I  only  know  that  I  often  wake 
up,  as  it  were,  and  find  myself  played  on  like  an 
instrument.  I  imagine  that  it  is  the  mild  yet 
sympathetic  Nature  around  me  adorning  itself 
with  the  memory  of  ancient  things.  As  I  saun- 
ter alonsj  over  the  rocks  and  around  the  fields,  a 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  459 

series  of  pictures,  moving  to  a  sort  of  rhythm, 
laughingly  dances  through  my  brain  and  attunes 
me  to  the  happiest  humor.  Of  course,  I  look 
upon  the  objects  of  the  outer  world,  and  gener- 
ally with  a  good  deal  of  attention;  but  they  are 
soon  transmuted  into  some  image  different  from, 
yet  in  unison  with  themselves.  Never  can  I  see 
the  grapes,  which  are  still  hanging  on  the  vines 
and  are  brought  fresh  to  market,  without  think- 
ing  that  they  were  a  poetic  thing  to  the  old 
Greeks,  and  that  these  justly  celebrated  Bacchus 
with  festivals,  dances  and  songs  for  his  great 
blessings.  Nature,  too,  is  here  so  friendly  and 
beneficent  that  man  may  well  deify  her  in  her 
most  worthy  manifestations.  It  is  now  winter, 
but  the  air  is  mild,  the  sun  shines  pleasantly, 
and  the  fruits  of  fall  are  still  displayed  in  the 
stalls  fresh  from  their  branches,  oranges  are 
ripening,  pomegranates,  broken  open,  show  their 
red  heart  on  every  street-corner.  The  olives, 
another  truly  divine  gift  to  this  land,  for  which 
the  ancients  conceived  a  divine  bestower,  still 
hang  amid  their  silvery  leaves,  some  just  ripe, 
some  still  green,  but  some  have  been  long  since 
gathered.  As  I  look  out  of  my  window  now,  I 
can  see  long  rows  of  the  pepper-tree  without  one 
withered  leaf,  and  whose  green  is  like  that  of 
early  May.  Indeed  I  should  say,  were  it  not  for 
the  almanach,  that  this  morning  was  a  morning 
of  early    spring,  for  all  Nature  >eems  to  be  re- 


460  ATHENS. 

joicing  in  a  new  life,  rather  than  preparing  for 
the  death  that  winter  brings.  Now  this  outer 
mood  of  natural  objects  goes  inward,  and  there 
rises  in  you  the  feeling  of  eternal  spring.  Doubt- 
less there  are  here,  too,  dark  and  disagreeable 
daj's,  but  they  have  been  very  few  since  my  ar- 
rival. This  climate  of  youth  attunes  the  humor 
of  the  man,  makes  the  atmosphere  which  he 
breathes,  and  its  full  effect  is  reached  when 
memory  adds  her  colors  from  the  past. 

In  this  long  monologue,  I  am  in  doubt  whether 
I  have  been  talking  to  you  or  only  to  myself. 
But  I  will  tell  what  I  have  been  trying  to  do :  to 
give  you  some  dim,  flickering  notion  of  my  sen- 
sations here  in  this  Athenian  air,  and,  if  possible 
to  throw  you  for  a  moment  into  an  Athenian 
mood.  I  know  the  difficulties  of  your  situation 
for  any  such  enjoyment;  in  the  horrible  rattle 
of  St.  Louis  the  soft  notes  of  Pan's  pipe  or  of 
Apollo's  lute  are  quite  extinguished,  and  through 
coal  smoke  of  industry  never  can  be  seen  the 
dance  of  the  Nymphs,  or  the  transparent  mo- 
tions of  the  Muses. 

Well,  my  dear  friend,  let  us  now  take  a  walk 
to  the  hill  nearest  Athens,  which  at  the  same 
time  overlooks  the  other  summits  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. It  is  a  steep .  jagged  reck  without 
trees,  almost  without  vegetation;  speedily  we  go 
half  way  up  or  more,  and  then  look  around. 
Why  should  I  confuse  you  by  trying  to  describe 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  461 

aii  tne  objects  which  now  rise  into  the  vision? 
There  is  the  city — select  ju»it  one  point  in  it 
— the  teni[)le  of  Theseus.  From  this  distance 
you  see  only  the  whole  structure;  even  the 
columns  are  no  longer  standing  sei)arated  from 
one  another,  but  they  have  all  locked  hands  like 
a  chorus  of  beautiful  youths,  and  are  danc- 
ing some  graceful  measure  around  the  fane  of 
old  Theseus.  I  tell  you  they  are  moving,  moving 
in  harmony,  and  if  you  have  the  right  kind  of  an 
ear,  you  can  hear  the  accompanying  song.  Be- 
yond the  temple  lies  the  happy  valley  of  the 
Cephissus,  with  its  olive  orchards  following  the 
stream  as  children  do  their  mother.  Beyond 
this  valley  and  backing  it  like  a  wall  lies  an- 
other range  of  mountains,  behind  which  is  a 
valley  which  can  not  be  seen,  and  then  beyond  is 
a  second  range  of  mountains  whose  tops  are  just 
visible  in  the  blue  haze — where  no  doubt  you  are 
lost,  and  so  we  shall  go  back  and  continue  our 
walk  up  the  hill  which,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  is 
called  Lycabettus. 

In  our  ascent  we  next  come  to  a  grot  in  which, 
we  may  suppose,  the  Nymi)hs  once  dwelt,  who 
from  their  rocky  abode  delighted  to  look  upon 
the  joyous  valley  below.  Why  else  is  this  cavern 
so  hollowed  out  like  a  dwelling?  Here  is  the  high 
doorway,  their  work  clearly ;  here  is  the  rude 
fretted  ceiling;  here  too  come  drops  of  water 
trickling  down.     But  what  sound  is  this — what 


462  ATHENS. 

lacrymose  nasal  whine  turning  the  very  air  we 
breathe  into  a  hideous  monster?  Near  by  the 
cave  of  the  Nymphs  there  has  been  built  a  Byzan- 
tine chapel  against  the  rock;  this  it  is  which  has 
frightened  the  festive  Nymphs  away  with  its 
harsh  dolorous  chants  of  struggle,  of  pain,  of 
death.  I  can  well  imagine  how  they  fluttered  in 
consternation  when  they  first  heard  that  rude 
bell  echoing  over  these  hills.  So  the  joyous 
Nymphs  fled,  fled  long  ago ;  and  they  have  been 
succeeded  by  the  cry  of  the  suppliant  and  the 
moan  of  the  priest.  They  were  the  happy  festive 
beings  of  Nature,  of  Life ;  they  could  not  endure 
the  thought  of  Death. 

Let  us  now  ascend  to  the  very  summit  of  the 
mountain,  and  look  down.  Yonder  in  that 
grove  of  olives  was  the  Academy  where  Plato 
was  wont  to  discourse — about  what,  do  you 
think?  Immortality — since  the  Individual,  how- 
ever joyous  aud  beautiful,  died;  but  is  this  the 
end?  Is  the  grand  conclusion,  then,  death,  and 
is  man  merely  a  negative  being?  Here,  it  is 
true.  Nature  ends;  here  also  ended  the  old  re- 
liofion  of  Nature ;  but  the  mind  comes  to  revolt  at 
the  thought.  If  man  is  to  live  just  in  order  that  he 
may  die,  then  the  shorter  the  way  to  the  end,  the 
better.  Such  questions,  some  400  years  before 
Christ,  were  occupying  those  old  heads  down 
yonder  in  that  grove  of  olives.  Look  at  it;  you 
can  see  their  shades  still  wandering  among  the 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  463 

trees;  certaialy  you  can  still  hear  their  voice. 
How  the  sun  shines  and  the  leaves  glisten  on 
that  spot!  But  would  you  know  the  fruit  of 
their  speculation.  It  meant  for  one  thin^  this 
chapel,  which  frightened  away  the  Nymphs,  and 
which  now  overlooks  their  own  city,  and  their 
very  grove.  Let  us  now  descend  from  this 
dizzy  height,  my  friend;  it  is  growing  dark 
and  we  may  get  lost — give  me  your  hand  for 
a  while  in  silence. 

Athens,  Dec.  18th,  1878. 

At  last  your  letter,  the  long-expected  has  ar- 
rived, bringing  delight  both  by  its  matter  and 
its  manner.  Of  course  I  have  read  it  over  often, 
it  conveys  me  all  the  information  which  1  de- 
sired to  possess  concerning  my  own  affairs  and 
at  the  same  time  a  most  happy  account  of  other 
things  in  which  I  take  an  interest.  I  have  also 
read  suitable  parts  of  it  to  friends  here  in 
Athens,  to  their  great  enjoyment;  so  your  name 
has  been  frequently  pronounced  in  this  classic 
air,  which  once  was  laden  with  so  many  im- 
mortal words.  Thus  far  you  are  at  least  in  good 
company. 

I  join  with  you  in  hoping  that  the  inflation  of 
the  currency  has  met  with  its  death-blow  in  the 
last  election.  If  one  wants  to  witness  some  of 
the  beauties  of  a  fluctuating  standard  of  value 
and  some  of   the   trickery  and  ni\.»ral  corruption 


464  ATHENS. 

\ 

to  which  it  gives  rise,  let  him  visit  Greece  just 

at  tliis  niomeut.     There  are  at  least  four  kinds 
of  money  in  circuUition  —  all  different  in  charac- 
ter   and    perpetually    shifting    in    their   relative 
values.     First  comes   the  copper  coin,  the  most 
abundant  and    hence  the  cheapest ;  next  follows 
the  legal  tender  in  paper,  worth  just  now  12% 
more  than   the  copper;  then  the  silver,  at  20% 
premium,  and  highest  of  all  gold  at  25%   pre- 
mium over  copper.     To  make  the  matter  more 
complicated,  the  different  coinages  of  the  silver 
franc  (or  drachma)  also  varies,  so  that  Greece 
seems  to  present  the  worst  financial    muddle  in 
the    world.     But  the  Greek  shopkeeper   rather 
prefers  this  state  of  things,  for  it  gives  him  such 
a  good  chance  to  fleece   the  ignorant  foreigner. 
For  instance,  I  go  to  a  hat  store    and  agree  to 
pay  the  hatter  ten  francs  for  a  hat,  after  he  has 
dropped  two  or  three  francs  on  the  article,  since 
all  prices  are  here  arranged  for  haggling.     When 
I  offer  him  the  money  of  the  country  he  refuses 
and  says  he  must  have  gold  francs,  that  is,  he 
adds  one-fourth  to  the  price  on  the  spot.     This, 
of  course,  he  does  only  to  the  man  whom  he  sees 
to  be    a    stranger;  then  he    will  drop  to    silver 
francs,  and  to    paper  francs,  if  he  finds  his  cus- 
tomer   refractory.     After     the     most     explicit 
agreement,  the  tradesmen  try  to  play  this  trick ; 
I  have  had  old,  grey-haired  mechanics  lie  with 
the  coolest    effrontery    about    a    few    coppers. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE .  465 

Then  when  you  hold  them  to  the  iigrcement,  they 
put  on  a  look  of  injured  innocence,  Jind  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  combined  withatwitcii 
of  the  lips,  they  try  to  imply  that  you  have 
cheated  them.  Two  or  three  times  I  have  been 
provoked  excessively;  lately  I  took  the  white 
locks  of  an  aged  tailor  in  my  hand  and  asked 
him  why,  with  these  covering  his  temples,  he 
would  lie  f(3r  a  few  lepta.  He  coolly  asked  me 
to  call  again  when  I  wanted  any  mending  done. 
Still  do  not  think  that  I  am  disgusted  with  the 
modern  Greek.  I  like  especially  his  aspiration, 
there  is  an  ideal  element  in  him  which  one  thinks 
is  his  chief  heritage  from  the  ancient  world. 
Besides  he  has  ability,  great  ability  in  certain 
directions,  and  I  believe  that  he  will  yet  reassume 
his  place  among  the  high  peoples  of  the  earth. 
But  he  must  stop  his  lying  and  cheating;  for  he 
does  not  steal,  since  that  is  a  sin  in  his  creed. 
Some  old  lawgiver  ought  again  to  rise  u[)  who 
would  hang  the  first  man  caught  in  a  wanton  lie. 
I  can  not  but  think  that  Draco  in  his  severe  code 
must  have  had  some  such  emergency  before  him  ; 
and  if  I  were  entrusted  with  the  making  of  laws 
for  Greece  at  this  time,  the  first  one  would  be 
capital  punishment  for  the  liar.  I  know  very 
well  that  falsehoods  are  also  told  in  other  lands, 
but  here  lying  has  become  so  engrained  in  the 
national  character  that  it  must  be  cut  out  sur- 
gically.    One  of  the  ancient  branches  of  educa- 

80 


46  G  ATHENS. 

tion  was,  to  teach  boys  to  tell  the  truth ;  I  think 
that  it  should  be  reinstated,  if  a  professor  can  be 
found. 

But  I  do  not  let  these  things  trouble  me ;  I 
take  my  flight  into  the  other  Athenian  world, 
and  the  present  one  with  its  little  annoyances 
disappears  totally.  For  here  at  Athens  it  is 
easier  than  anywhere  else  to  rise  out  of  the  dis- 
agreeable reality  into  the  happiest  realms  of  the 
Imagination ;  the  transition  is  but  a  step.  This 
second  atmosphere,  as  it  may  be  called,  is  the 
positive  charm  of  the  city ;  it  is  filled  with  the 
most  beautiful  forms  which  have  appeared  on 
this  earth,  and  also  with  some  of  the  greatest 
men.  There  is  but  little  object  in  coming  to 
Athens  unless  you  can  live  in  the  past,  unless 
you  can  transport  yourself,  body  and  soul,  into 
that  ancient  world  which  once  existed  here  in  its 
full  splendor.  Amid  all  the  changes.  Nature  has 
remained  quite  the  same ;  she  perpetually  sug- 
gests what  she  once  warmed  into  being  on  this 
soil,*she  incites  you  to  imagine  things  as  they 
were  in  their  glory.  No  one  can  walk  over  the 
Acropolis  without  the  strongest  impulse  to  re- 
store it  to  its  pristine  beautjs  and  to  take  part 
in  the  worship  at  its  altars,  where  this  can  be 
done  only  through  the  Imagination.  I  came  to 
be  an  old  Athenian  for  a  time,  not  a  modern  one. 

But,  I  confess,  a  portion  of  your  letter  caused 
me  to  drop  from  the  clouds;    on  account  of   my 


A   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  467 

mad  laughter  the  severe  old  Gods  kicked  me  out 
of  Olympus.  So  you  have  been  compelled  to 
read,  listen  to,  and  pass  judgment  on  13,000 
lines  of  poetry —  savage,  death-dealing  lines  of 
poetry  —  and  you  are  still  alive?  IIow  did 
you  escape?  Tell  me  the  secret,  as  I  too  may 
have  use  for  it  some  time,  I  can  see  you  now 
sitting  in  your  arm-chair,  with  stoical  fortitude 
listening  to  that  stuff  reeled  off  by  the  yard, 
seeking  a  little  protection  behind  the  cloud  of 
smoke  from  your  cigar.  But  you  have  one  con- 
solation; sin  as  j'ou  may,  you  are  now  proof 
against  hell-fire  and  infernal  torments.  And  you 
had  also  to  deliver  an  opinion  upon  the  produc- 
tion? Was  it  in  your  capacity  of  Judge  that  you 
gave  decision  upon  this  case  of  an  author?  My 
dear  friend,  I  had  intended  to  read  you  some 
lines  of  my  own  when  I  returned  —  not  13,000, 
however — but  now  I  shall  not,  I  feel  that  you 
have  suffered  enough. 

But  let  me  not  laugh  at  that  poor  devil  who 
has  made  13,000  iambics,  in  the  vain  hope  that 
that  he  had  something  important  to  say  to  the 
world ;  under  all  my  merriment,  I  have  a  deep 
sympathy  for  him,  his  case  is  too  nearly  my  own 
for  me  not  to  see  myself,  partially  at  least,  re- 
flected in  him.  So  many  verses  he  has  ham- 
mered out,  day  after  dar,  brin^inoj  them  into 
some  superficial  jingle  of  rhyme  if  not  into  any 
deep  inner  harmony  of  song.  With  intiuite  labor 


468  ATHENS, 

he  has  worked  away  at  his  task,  cheered  on  by  a 
lying  fiend  who  iu  soft  whispers  has  promised 
him — what?  Money,  fame,  honor — ah,  perhaps 
immortality.  It  is  no  fun  to  cut  13,000  verses 
out  of  the  chaos  of  speech,  adjust  them  with 
good  walking  feet  and  make  them  all  jingle  at 
the  end.  Great  labor  it  is  to  construct  them, 
but  still  greater  to  read  them — alas,  here  lies  all 
the  trouble.  People,  as  constituted  at  present, 
have  too  much  of  earth  in  their  minds;  they  can 
not  be  borne  aloft  on  Pegasus'  wings,  particularly 
if  these  wings  are  only  made  of  pin-feathers  or 
goose-quils.  "O  Poet,"  I  would  address  him, 
"I  too  am  of  thy  kind,  and  deeply  feel  with  thy 
disappointment.  Take  now  this  advice  of  mine, 
expressed  from  crushed  hopes :  write  for  thyself 
and  for  nobody  else;  read  not  thy  productions  to 
unwilling  listeners;  publish  them  not  to  an  in- 
different world.  On  thine  own  slender  pinions 
perchance  thou  canst  rise  into  the  very  heaven 
of  poetical  ecstacy ;  but  if  thou  undertakest  to 
wing  the  multitude  to  flight  from  thy  frail  store 
of  feathers,  not  only  will  nobody  be  raised  with 
thee,  but  thou  wilt  be  inevitably  pulled  down 
into  the  bog  where  they  are  lying." 

This  leads  you  to  think  of,  and  once  to  speak  of 
my  contribution  to  the  printed  Sahara  of  litera- 
ture. Yet  I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  whether 
you  had  e\er  heard  of  a  book  called  "The  Sys- 
tem of  Shakespeare's  Dramas?"     I  must  say  that 


A  TOUR  IX  EUROPE.  409 

I  know  very  little  about  it  — the  few  allusions  in 
my  letters  contain  the  sum  of  my  inf(»rmation. 
Poor  child  of  my  brain,  now  just  one  year  old; 
yet  unable,  I  am  afraid,  to  stand  alone,  still 
crawling  on  the  earth.  If  it  had  prospered,  I 
am  confident  that  I  would  have  heard  of  it;  not 
to  know,  in  this  case,  is  ample  knowledge.  It 
was  born  just  before  the  holidays,  last  year;  not 
a  word  have  I  received  from  its  godfather,  the 
publisher;  and  I,  the  cruel  parent,  have  from  its 
])irth  been  continually  travelling  away  from  it, 
right  in  the  op[)osite  direction,  putting  between 
it  and  myself  space,  time,  and  spiritual  mu- 
tation. Now,  looking  back  from  Athens  here, 
over  the  whole  year,  over  the  great  seas  and 
lands,  over  the  changes  within  me,  back,  back 
to  that  babe,  I  almost  feel  that  it  has  already 
become  a  stranger  to  me. 

I  believe  that  it  was  just  this  day  twelve 
mouths  ago  that  you  accompanied  me  to  the 
Union  Station,  as  I  set  out  on  my  journey.  To 
me  the  year  has  been  eventful,  the  most  event- 
ful of  my  life  —  but  wherein  I  can  hardly  say. 
1  seem  to  be  sowing:  and  scatterino^  all  sorts  of 
seeds  on  a  stubbletield  that  has  raised  one  little 
crop  already,  and  this  has  been  reaped.  "What 
the  harvest  will  be  —  wheat,  straw,  cockle,  grain, 
lies  beyond  even  my  imagination.  The  time  in- 
vites to  retrospect,  but  I  cannot  now  make  it,  I 
must    wait  to  the    end.     I  hardly  do    anything 


470  ATHENS. 

consciously  now,  the  demonic  power  urges  me 
on  and  I  do  not  resist  or  even  question.  Think 
of  its  driving  me  to  Athens,  to  the  extreme  limit 
of  my  dreams,  whence  I  cast  a  glance  back  at 
you,  my  friend,  and  wish  you  and  yours  a  Happy 
New  Year. 

Athens,  Jan.   10th,   1879. 

With  you  the  old  year  has  passed  away,  and  is 
already  half  forgotten  doubtless ;  here  it  has  not 
yet  arrived.  That  is,  the  Greek  calendar  is 
twelve  days  behind  ours,  and  somehow  or  other 
can  not  overtake  us,  though  the  spirit  of  prog- 
ress is  trying.  Also  my  birthday  has  gone  by,  * 
as  usual  without  my  thinking  of  it;  this  is  now 
the  second  birthday  that  I  have  passed  in  Europe. 
I  have  been  now  a  little  more  than  two  months  in 
Greece,  still  I  am  not  yet  ready  to  depart.  It 
will  be  hard  to  leave  for  many  reasons,  but  only 
one  reason  I  shall  give  you  now,  having  just  re- 
turned from  my  evening  walk :  I  have  become  so 
used  to  looking  throuo;h  the  columns  of  the  old 
temple  of  Ju})iter  Olympius  at  the  outlines  of 
Mount  Hvmettus  under  moonlio;ht,  that  this  view 
has  almost  become  a  good  slice  of  my  daily 
bread. 

This  outburst  sounds  to  my  ears  a  little  senti- 
mental and  I  wish  I  had  not  written  it;  I  would 
delete  it  were  it  not  an  honest  part  of  me.  But 
as  I  have  spoken  of  this  wonderful  temple  you 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE.  471 

may  want  to  hear  soinctliiiig  about  its  })uiiK)it 
and  present  condition.  The  remains  consist  of 
fifteen  enormous  standing  columns  and  one  lying 
prostrate;  this  hist  one  was  thrown  down  some 
years  ago  by  a  storm.  The  first  question  that  you 
ask  yourself,  as  you  walk  under  these  mighty 
marble  oaks  is — what  was  the  power  that  brought 
them  hither?  With  infinite  labor  they  had  to  be 
broken  from  the  mountains,  transported  many 
miles  and  reared  upright  here — all  for  what?  It 
was  some  power,  clearly  some  very  strong  power 
it  was— stronger  by  far  than  any  power  I  see 
around  me  in  this  city  at  present.  It  must  have 
been  some  deep  conviction  that  nerved  the  arms 
which  brought  t(;gcther  and  shaped  in  one  har- 
monious form  all  these  stones — what  was  that 
conviction?  This  may  not  be  so  easy  to  tell,  but 
of  its  strength  there  can  be  no  doubt,  for  here  are 
the  manifest  signs.  One  feels  the  power  of  these 
arms  as  they  hoist  stone  after  stone  upon  the 
columns,  and  then  cap  them  with  an  immense 
architrave.  It  was  some  honest  conviction,  for 
the  work  is  honest;  these  columns  are  no  sham, 
made  of  brick  and  rubble  and  then  plastered  on 
the  outside  into  an  ap})earance  of  marble,  else 
they  had  long  ago  perished  with  their  makers.  It 
is  strength,  adamantine  strength,  and  I  can  not 
help  adding  strength  of  conviction — this  is  the 
inner  power  which  is  felt  here  and  of  which  the 
outer   structure    is    but  the  manifestation.     See 


472  ATHENS. 

whole  generations  of  men  tugging  away  at  these 
blocks  of  stone,  which  must  first  be  cut  from  the 
quarry,  then  carried  on  slow  vehicles  to  the  dis- 
tant city,  then  hoisted  to  their  place  and  chiseled 
into  shape.  And  how  many  of  them?  The  old 
temple  must  have  had  120, such  columns  at  least, 
without  taking  into  account  walls  or  foundation. 
So  much  trouble  do  men  take  to  express  what 
is  deepest  within  their  souls;  indeed  this  expres- 
sion is  the  supreme  occupation  of  life.  What 
else  is  the  human  race  good  for,  if  not  to  utter 
in  stone  or  in  speech,  or  in  some  permanent 
form,  its  conviction?  The  old  Greeks  did  then 
realize  the  thought  that  man  had  some  higher  end 
of  existence  than  first  g-ettiuo-  and  then  eatino-  his 

CD  CD  O 

dinner.  This  was  the  temple  of  Jupiter,  the 
Olympian  ruler  of  Gods  and  of  men ;  the  artist 
asked  and  the  people  demanded :  how  can  the 
edifice  be  made  worthy  of  the  highest  divinity? 
From  this  conception  flows  the  size  of  these 
columns,  the  vast  proportions  of  the  structure ; 
it  must  convey  the  impression  of  power,  since  it 
was  meant  to  be  the  suitable  abode  of  the  highest 
power  of  the  universe. 

The  history  of  the  building  of  the  temple  is 
curious,  and  reflects  in  itself  the  character  of 
many  epochs.  It  was  begun  somewhere  about 
500  B.  C  by  the  Peisistratidae,  tyrants  of 
Athens,  who  beheld  in  Jupiter  the  type  of  kingly 
authority,  and  were  therefore  the  great  promot- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUEOPE.  473 

ers  of  his  vvorshij).  The  people  were  tcf  believe 
iu  absolute  power  and  gaze  upon  it  with  awe; 
this  primal  conception  still  looks  forth  grandly 
from  these  ruins.  But  republican  Athens  could 
not  favor  such  a  faith  ;  the  city,  freed  from  its 
tyrants,  neglected  their  unfinished  temple,  and 
their  God.  On  the  contrary,  the  Athenians 
concentrated  their  powers  upon  the  Parthenon, 
which  was  to  be  the  beautiful  home,  not  of  the 
Olympian  tyrant,  but  of  their  si)ecial  protect- 
ress, Pallas  Athena — the  temple  built  by  Peri- 
cles, the  great  organizer  of  the  Athenian  de- 
mocracy.  It  was  also  placed  on  the  Acropolis, 
overlooking  proudly  the  precincts  of  even  Jupiter 
Olympius.  But  the  Athenian  democracy,  in  the 
course  of  generations,  passed  away,  and  absolute 
power  returned  —  and  with  it,  what?  The  com- 
pletion of  this  temple,  for  Jupiter  has  again 
obtained  mastery  and  is  henceforth  to  be  wor- 
shipped. The  successors  of  Alexander  begin 
anew  work  on  the  structure  but  it  was  completed 
by  a  Roman  Emperor,  Hadrian.  Thus  a  world- 
ruling  Monarch  finishes  the  temple  of  the  world- 
ruling  God. 

So  is  history  written  by  monuments,  wdiich 
often  have  a  better  means  of  utterance  than 
language.  Six  hundred  years  lay  between  the 
commencement  and  the  completion  of  this  tem- 
ple ;  begun  by  one  autocrat  it  had  to  wait  so  long 
before  it    could    bo    finished    by  another.     The 


474  ATHENS. 

unity  of  the  Roman  Empire  was  typified  in  the 
unity  of  Olympus  —  and  the  Emperob-  sees  the 
symbol  of  himself  in  the  Olympian  ruler.  Just 
at  this  point  enter  the  defects  of  the  structure 
which  render  it  so  inferior  to  the  Parthenon. 

First  of  all,  there  is  too  much  of  rude  power 
expressed  in  these  columns.  Notice  how  large 
they  are,  then  notice  how  many  there  are,  and 
how  closely  placed  together ;  they  have  no  archi- 
tectural purpose  and  thus  they  seem  the  ca- 
pricious, nay,  the  tyrannical,  play  of  giants.  You 
feel  that  the  man  who  built  them  could  do  as  he 
pleased  with  all  human  resources.  Draw  near 
to  one  of  the  columns  and  measure  yourself  with 
a  single  block  of  it,  if  you  wish  to  see  how  small 
you  are.  You  look  up  and  you  are  inwardly 
crushed  by  the  view.  It  is  tyranny  in  architec- 
ture; let  us  hope  that  the  tyranny  which  it  rep- 
resents has  yet  only  these  few  columns  standing 
in  the  whole  world.  How  different  is  the  effect 
of  the  Parthenon ! 

So,  too,  the  ornaments  seem  out  of  place. 
Why  decorate  mere  rudeness  with  some  outside 
flourishes?  Even  the  channeling  or  fluting  ap- 
pears to  be  some  external  thing  on  the  huge 
body;  but  the  acanthus  of  the  Corinthian  order 
is  almost  revolting — at  least  to  my  feeling.  To 
make    the  graceful    leaf  sprout    out  of  such    a 

huge  column — that  leaf  which  sij^nifies  slender- 
ed o 

ness,  luxury,  even  weakness  —  is  a  horrible  dis- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  475 

cord,  yet  highly  significant.  What  is  here  told 
but  that  brute  force  is  covered  over  with  some 
tincture  of  refinement,  that  the  rude  power  of 
Rome  has  stuck  in  its  dress  some  Grecian 
flowers? 

Thus,  of  the  old  Greek  temple  there  hardly 
remains  more  than  the  conception  ;  in  execution 
it  is  Roman,  and  Roman  of  the  imperial  age. 
Some  of  its  harshness  disappears  when  it  is  looked 
at  from  a  distance  in  the  transparent  mellow 
light  of  this  climate.  Tyranny  always  looks  bet- 
ter when  you  are  far  off  than  when  you  are 
directly  under  it.  Still,  it  has  its  uses;  one  can- 
not pass  beneath  these  columns  without  receiv- 
ing a  sound  lesson  in  humility.  I  walk  daily 
under  them  and  tremble;  here  is  visible  that 
earth-controlling  power  which  once  hurled  moun- 
tains on  the  old  Titans,  or  made  them  carry 
mountains  in  order  to  build  this  temple. 

As  this  letter  has  thus  far  been  very  architec- 
tural, I  suppose  it  may  as  well  be  completed  with 
architecture,  and  not  left  standing  unfinished  like 
the  Olympieium  just  mentioned.  For  this  pur- 
pose we  shall  have  to  ascend  the  Acropolis  and 
take  a  look  at  the  Parthenon,  though,  do  not  be 
afraid,  this  long  look  will  only  make  my  letter 
shorter.  I  shall  give  no  measurements ;  these 
you  can  find  in  hundreds  of  books  at  your  elbow, 
if  that  will  do  you  any  good.  It  is  a  strange 
thing  about  this  measuring  of    tiic  Parthenon, 


476  ATHENS. 

which  is  still  going  on  with  infinite  detail ;  yet 
no  Architect  has  been  able  to  reproduce  it  from 
his  figures.  The  building  manifestly  refuses  to 
be  measured,  numbers  can  not  tell  its  secret. 

First  of  all  comes  the  magic  of  its  situation. 
It  makes  no  difference  where  you  are,  this 
building  falls  into  the  eye  before  any  other 
object  in  the  Athenian  valle3\  From  the  sea, 
from  the  mountain,  from  the  plain,  all  liglit 
seems  to  go  to  it  and  to  come  from  it.  I  have 
looked  at  it  from  every  direction  and  at  all 
distances,  from  the  bed  of  the  Ilissos  below 
and  from  the  heights  of  Hymettus  above,  from 
the  olive  grove  of  the  Cephissus,  and  from  the 
peaks  of  Parnes — I  have  never  caught  it  at  any 
disadvantage  or  showing  any  weakness.  On  the 
contrary  some  new  virtue  would  be  revealed, 
some  beauty  which  I  had  not  before  noticed. 
Even  when  it  grows  small  by  distance,  there  is 
no  confusion  to  the  eye,  the  harmony  of  its 
parts  is  still  psrfect.  I  have  watched  it  till  it 
quite  disappeared,  vanishing  like  the  last  notes 
of  distant  music  among  the  hills.  Also  it  stands 
up  wonderfully ;  at  nearly  every  point  you  can 
see  it  from  foundation  to  top.  Situation  is  first; 
then  comes  its  happy  magnitnde,  for  it  was  cer- 
tainly made  to  be  seen  from  every  part  of  the 
Athenian  valley. 

But  let  us  ascend  the  hill  and  look  more  closely 
at  the  temple.       Here  is  the  wonderful  structure 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  4  <  / 

before  our  eyes,  how  can  we  work  into  the  soul 
of  it  and  listen  to  what  it  has  to  say?  There  is 
an  outside  crust  which  you  have  to  toil  throu<rh 
before  you  can  reach  the  pure  golden  stream  of 
its  creative  conception ;  you  must  wait  patiently 
and  after  a  time  it  will  become  vocal.  I  sat  a 
whole  day  before  it  in  the  cold,  well  knowinoj 
that  it  was  telling  something,  nay,  that  it  was 
sinijino:  something,  but  I  could  at  first  only 
gather  faint  snatches  of  its  music ;  the  whole  I 
could  not  put  together.  Finally  it  seemed  to 
break  forth  into  one  complete  harmonious 
rhythm,  and  now  when  I  look  at  it  from  the  most 
distant  peaks,  I  can  hear  its  voice.  So  it  has 
been  standing  there  these  two  thousand  years  and 
more  in  a  j)erpetual  song — and  happy  the  man 
who  has  heard  it ! 

Now  I  know  that  you  are  asking  all  this  time, 
"What  did  it  say?  Tell  us  what  it  said."  Ah, 
that  is  the  difficult  point.  The  language  is  here 
of  stone;  alas,  what  translation  into  English  can 
I  make  of  that?  Every  person  has  his  own  way 
of  expressing  these  things  to  others ;  some 
writers  do  not  even  believe  in  their  existence. 
But  I  will  tell  you  the  image  under  which  I 
like  to  think  this  temple,  and  which  to  me 
best  expresses  in  speech  its  nature.  These 
columns  are  a  chorus  of  beautiful  vouths  dressed 
in  their  decorous  classic  garments,  whose  folds 
fall    down  over  their  perfectly-formed   bodies; 


478  ATHENS. 

they  do  not  stand  aloue,  but  they  are  joined 
together  in  lines  around  the  sacred  house  of  the 
Goddess;  nor  do  they  remain  still — but,  behold, 
they  lean  slightly  forward  and  seem  to  be  mov- 
ino-.  How  happy  they  look!  they  are  celebra- 
tino-  a  festival,  an  eternal  festival  to  their  divine 
protectress  within;  you  may  now  see  the  dance 
and  have  the  song. 

Such  is  this  colonnade ;  observe  it  closely,  and 
you  will  see  that  it  does  not  exclude,  does  not 
defend  that  which  it  encircles ;  but  it  is  celebra- 
ting a  joyous  festival.  Then  notice  the  garland 
running  around  its  forehead,  whereon  are  sculp- 
tured in  high  relief  the  exploits  of  Theseus  and 
of  other  famous  heroes  of  antiquity.  This  gives 
or  may  give  the  theme  of  the  song,  as  it  did  to  the 
Greek  poets  of  old.  Next  let  us  look  at  the 
building  around  which  these  columns  are  moving 
in  such  harmonious  rhythm — this  is  called  the 
cella  of  the  temple,  as  you  know,  and  is  fully 
enclosed  for  the  special  seat  of  the  Goddess. 
This  cella  has  also  a  wreath  bound  around  it 
above,  on  which  is  sculptured  in  low  relief  the 
so-called  Panathenaic  Procession — but  what  was 
this?  A  festival  to  the  Goddess  Athena;  here 
are  beautiful  youths,  some  mounted  on  horse- 
back, others  afoot;  maidens  too  are  in  line,  bear- 
ino-  baskets,  etc.  Here  then  is  a  new  expression 
— an  expression  in  sculpture — of  what  architec- 
ture  expressed,  more  faintly   yet  more  grandly. 


A  TOUR  /AT  EUROPE.  4  79 

by  its  rows  of  enclosing  columns.     So  the  Arts 
lock  hands. 

Now  if  you  arc  not  too  tired,  turn  to  the  pedi- 
ments of  the  temple.  The  birth  of  the  God- 
dess Athena,  in  the  free  group — from  the  relief 
do  not  fail  to  notice  the  transition — is  announced 
first;  with  her,  Athens  is  possible.  Still  it  is  a 
sons  and  hints  at  those  encircling  columns.  In 
the  second  pediment  it  is  the  victory  of  Athena 
— now  comes  the  triumphal  ode  which  runs 
through  the  whole  structure.  So  each  part  be- 
comes an  harmonious  echo  of  the  otherparts  and 
of  the  whole.  Thus  it  turns  vocal  all  throush 
and  through,  and  sounds  like  a  Pindaric  ode, 
which  in  some  respects  is  its  best  commentary. 
It  is  a  glorious  holiday  for  any  man  merely  to 
sit  down  and  look  at  it,  completing  it  in  his  im- 
agination and  feeling  as  he  muses  solitary  on  the 
fragments  of  its  pillars.  When  I  was  there,  I 
heard  the  military  band  below  in  the  streets  of 
the  city  ;  may  I  say  that  its  music  fell  far  behind 
that  which  I  was  listening  to  there  on  the  hill? 
I  felt  like  shouting  down :  Musicians,  play  me 
this  temple. 

A  heavy  dose  of  stone  you  have  this  time. 
But  at  last  good-bye. 


480  ATHENS. 


t 


Athens,  Jan.  25th,  1879. 

To-day  the  critical  moment  arrived,  which  I 
have  abeady  some  time  been  expecting;  the 
friend  whose  house  I  have  been  occupying  for 
the  hist  two  months  returned  from  his  protracted 
absence,  and  I  am  again  at  the  Hotel.  I  can  now 
say  that  in  about  two  or  three  weeks,  unless 
something  unexpected  interferes,  I  shall  begin 
to  take  the  back  track  towards  America.  One 
object  remains  unaccomplished,  I  have  not  yet 
seen  any  of  the  country  districts  of  Greece  out- 
side of  Attica.  To-morrow  therefore  I  shall 
start  for  a  short  tour  through  some  of  the  nearest 
provinces  before  I  sail  for  Italy. 

I  feel  on  the  whole  highly  gratified  at  the  re- 
sults of  my  Greek  journey,  though  of  course  I 
can  not  yet  tell  what  all  those  results  are.  One 
thing  is  certain:  I  have  stored  up  in  my  mind 
many  beautiful  images  which  I  ean  draw  on  at 
will  when  I  am  in  need  of  some  happy  enter- 
tainment. I  feel  too  the  old  classics  will  be  far 
nearer  to  me  now  than  they  ever  were  before ;  I 
can  always  place  them  in  the  fair  framework  of 
Nature  in  which  their  picture  belongs,  and  with- 
out which  they  can  not  be  fully  understood.  If 
it  were  only  to  breathe  this  atmosphere  and  look 
upon  the  scenery  here,  it  were  well  worth  the 
trouble  of  the  journey,  to  any  lover  of  the  old 
classical  literature.     One  begins  to  see  why  the 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  481 

Gods  took  up  their  abode  here,  though  having 
quite  the  whole  earth  to  choose  from,  and  why 
they  were  so  loth  to  forsake  their  happy  home. 
I  can  say  that  four  leading  points  have  been  at- 
tained, if  not  perfectly  at  least  approximately. 
First,  the  Greek  language,  now  begins  to  fall 
familiarly  into  my  ear,  and  to  pass  into  my  mind 
instinctively,  that  is,  without  conscious  effort ; 
this  was  a  chief  end  of  my  journey.  In  other 
words  Greek  has  gone  down  from  my  head  into 
my  impulses  and  their  expression  ;  a  result  which 
only  living  speech  can  bring  about.  So  I  can 
now  unlock  more  completely  the  greatest  of  all 
the  monuments  of  antiquity — Greek  Poetry. 
Secondly  Nature  and  climate  have  revealed  their 
forms  and  to  a  certain  extent  their  secrets — for 
Nature  remains  quite  the  same.  Thirdly,  the 
people  I  have  had  a  chance  of  studying — and 
though  the  modern  Greeks  are  very  different 
from  the  ancient  Greeks,  the  former  possess 
many  of  the  old  traits  and  customs,  and  suggest 
still  more.  Not  a  few  doubtful  points  in  ancient 
life  and  usage  have  been  cleared  up  by  observing 
the  ways  of  a  modern  Greek  peasant.  Then 
fourthly,  there  are  the  remains  of  antiquity  here 
— temples,  statues,  walls,  etc — all  of  which  have 
received  more  or  leas  attention. 

Thus  like  a  bee  which  has  gone  from  flower  to 
flower  and  sipped  up  all  sorts  of  sweet  things, 
and    moreover  has  laden    its   thighs    with    rich 

31 


482  •  ATHENS. 

material  for  the  honeycomb  wherein  to  store  away 
permanently  what  it  has  gathered  on  a  bright 
spring-day,  and  which  after  many  circuitous 
wanderings  through  fields  and  through  gar- 
dens, turns  back  towards  the  hive  in  straight 
flight,  but  still  is  tempted  to  stop  by  the  flowers 
in  its  path  and  to  add  just  a  pin's  point  more  to 
its  honeyed  stores — so  have  I,  a  little  bee,  flown 
around  this  southern  European  garden  and  col- 
lected till  I  can  hardly  carry  anything  more. 

Not  that  I  have  gotten  all  that  is  here,  but  all 
that  I  can  carry.  Consequently  at  times  I  begin 
to  feel  tired,  sated  perhaps,  yet  even  this  feel- 
ing is  very  uncertain.  For  only  a  day  or  so  ago, 
I  went  to  the  Barbakeion  where  some  ancient  pot- 
tery is  kept;  there  a  new  impulse  seized  me.  It 
was  nothing  else  than  to  draw  the  ancient  ce- 
ramic remains  into  my  circle  of  studies — which  I 
have  not  hitherto  done.  Suddenly  I  have  become 
deeply  interested  in  this  branch  of  antiquities  and 
can  fully  account  for  its  fascination.  There  is  a 
divinity  here  too  who  presides  over  these  cun- 
ning works  of  clay,  and  inspiues  his  devotees  with 
a  kind  of  infatuation.  I  confess  then  to  have  ad- 
mitted a  new  God  into  my  Pantheon  already 
large :  Keramos  he  is  called,  and  I  long  to 
occupy  myself  devoutly  with  his  worship.  I  re- 
gret having  neglected  him  so  long — it  was  a  great 
bin  in  me  for  which  I  am  now  paying  the  penalty 
by  poignant  repentance.     Still  I  feel  his  inspira- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  483 

tion,  and  hereafter  I  iutend  to  become  a  fre- 
quenter of  his  temple  and  a  participant  in  his 
service. 

I  had  a  classical  race  yesterday  through  the 
olive  orchards  of  the  Cephissus  towards  the 
famous  pass  of  Phyle.  As  I  was  looking  at 
some  ancient  objects  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
city,  I  heard  a  low  rumble  succeeded  by  a  very 
heavy  rolling  sound ;  looking  up  I  saw  at  a  dis- 
tance across  the  valley  a  dense  cloud  of  white 
smoke  ascending  into  the  skies  and  assuming  the 
form  of  a  winged  dragon  or  devil  as  it  flew  awav 
to  the  South  ;  I  knew  by  its  looks  that  it  had  done 
some  mischief.  The  whole  population  turned 
out,  I  followed — what  a  rush  of  carriages,  carts 
and  pedestrians !  A  powder  mill  had  exploded 
some  three  or  four  miles  distant,  but  nobody  was 
killed.  I  was  repaid  for  my  run  by  seeing  the 
olive  trees,  beneath  which  I  walked  back  to  the 
city  at  my  leisure,  in  most  excellent  company  I 
thought. 

You  will  probably  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you 
that  to-day  I  rose  early  and  attended  morning 
prayers.  That  is,  I  took  a  walk  to  behold  in  the 
sunrise  the  temple  of  Theseus,  which  although 
of  stone  utters  a  perpetual  hymn  of  praise.  Its 
harmony  is  such  that  if  I  visit  it  early  in  the 
morning,  it  sets  mc  in  tune  for  the  whole  day — 
what  other  happier  result  can  a  prayer  have? 
One  only  needs  to  look  at  it  attentively  and  with- 


484  ATHENS. 

out  distraction,  to  be  drawn  into  its  rhythm 
which,  I  tell  you,  enters  deep  into  the  soul  and 
harmonizes  all  its  discordant  elements.  It  is 
true  that  I  have  nothing  else  to  do  here  but  to 
give  myself  up  to  such  influences,  and  hence 
comes  my  susceptibility  to  the  beauty  of  these 
old  structures  and,  I  should  say,  to  their  religion. 
For  if  it  be  one  of  the  prime  objects  of  religion 
to  make  man  within  himself  an  organ  of  har- 
monious utterance  in  which  all  the  feelings,  pas- 
sions and  thoughts  are  attuned  in  happy  con- 
cordance, then  the  old  temples  of  the  Heathens 
are  for  me  at  least  the  most  holy  objects  in 
Athens. 

My  society  here  has  been  a  very  unusual  one 
for  me,  composed  as  it  is  almost  entirely  of 
American  Missionaries.  Most  excellent  and 
friendly  people  I  have  found  them,  and  more- 
over they  have  not  troubled  me  with  their  prose- 
lytism.  Conversion  of  Heathendom  is  hard, 
very  hard  in  the  presence  of  the  Parthenon. 
The  modern  Greeks  are,  however,  a  Christian 
people  and  very  religious ;  but  one  feels  com- 
pelled to  ask — what  have  you  gained  by  renoun- 
cing the  faith  of  the  Marathonian  Heroes?  As 
one  looks  down  from  the  Acropolis  into  the 
valley  below,  his  eye  passes  from  happy,  har- 
monious Heathendom  into  Christianity  and  de- 
generacy. Those  old  fellows  possessed  something 
which  has  been  lost  to  their  people,  if  not  to  the 


A  TOUR  IX  EUROPE.  485 

world.  As  to  the  Missionaries,  my  end  is  just 
the  op{)Osite:  I  would  like  to  carry  over  a  little 
of  Greek  culture  to  my  native  land,  and  to  convert 
it  in  a  certain  sense  to  Heathendom,  which  has 
been  such  blessing  to  me.  But  I  shall  have  to 
conclude  this  theme  right  here,  lest  ife  become 
discordant  to  you. 

Athens,  Jan.  26th,  1879. 

In  looking  back  through  my  Athenian  stay, 
I  can  see  that  I  have  had  one  dominating  pas- 
sion, one  never-failing  undercurrent  which  has 
swept  along  within  itself  all  my  various  studies 
in  Art,  Nature,  and  History.  The  classic  mood 
still  runs  to  epigrams  which,  however,  seem  to 
me  to  be  tuned  a  little  differently  from  what 
they  were  in  Italy.  A  couple  of  dozen  of  them 
or  more  have  insisted  on  completing  themselves, 
leaving  a  hundred  fragments,  each  of  which  is 
still  throbbing  to  get  born  into  one  of  these  little 
sprites.  I  shall  send  you  a  sample  which  gives 
my  attunement  as  I  wander  through  this  Athen- 
ian landscape. 

Each     faint     rustle     of    branches     above    is   a 
Goddess'  whisper, 
Each  petty  murmur  of  brooks  is  a  low  laugh 
of  the  Nymphs, 
And   a     sweet    little  epigram   steals    from    the 
glance  of  each  maiden, 
Dewdroi)s   hung   on  each    leaf    are    the    pure 
tears  of  the  Muse  ; 


486  ATHENS. 

But  the   miracle  is,  thou  too  art    becoming    a 
poem 
In  this  clime  of  the  Gods;  wonder,  O  man, 
at  thyself. 

I  have  come  to  believe  that  my  deepest  inter- 
est in  things  here  hovers  about  two  main  ones : 
Parthenon  and  Hymettus.  Very  different  these 
objects  seem,  one  of  Art  and  the  other  of  Nature  ; 
still  they  have  become  connected,  as  it  were 
twinned  in  my  Athenian  life,  which  is  now  nearly 
three  months  old.  Really  there  is  not  much 
sculpture  here  of  any  great  worth ;  painting 
hardly  exists.  In  this  regard  Italy  is  far  ahead 
of  Greece,  though  the  latter  was  the  source.  To 
be  sure,  architecture  is  supremely  represented 
at  Athens  in  the  two  remaining  ancient  edifices. 
Literature  in  modern  Greece  asserts  a  place, 
but  has  called  forth  no  genius.  The  popular 
poetry  of  the  peasant  is  a  genuine  atterance  as 
far  as  it  goes ;  it  has  been  collected  in  several 
books,  and  I  have  been  digging  into  it  prepara- 
tory to  my  round  through  the  provinces,  using 
the  Passow  collection  and  getting  my  chief  help 
in  deciphering  its  provincialisms  from  Spiridion, 
my  Ithacan  cameriere  at  the  Hotel.  How  easily 
this  fellow  weeps — as  easily  as  an  Homeric  hero. 
Across  the  way  is  a  little  Greek  bookstore  whose 
proprietor  has  made  a  translation  of  the  Odyssey 
into  the  vernacular,  but  it  is  in  prose.  This  I 
have  bought  and  am  reading,  to  see  how  Homer's 


A  TOUIt  IX  EUROPE.  487 

Greek  looks  in  the  Greek  of  today.  Instead  of 
a  translation  it  is  a  kind  of  transmigration  of 
speech  after  twenty-five  centuries  and  several 
more  proliably,  one  knows  not  how  many. 

But  it  is  Hymettus  that  has  been  my  chief 
delight,  at  least  my  chief  inspiration  to  make 
something  sing.  Many  times  I  have  rambled 
over  it  and  from  it  viewed  towns,  islands,  seas. 
The  result  is  that  I  have  turned  Hymettus  into 
epigrams,  which  would  always  be  bubbling  up 
along  my  path.  Unless  I  deceive  myself,  they 
came  spontaneously.  I  would  sit  down  to  rest 
on  a  stone  and  take  out  of  my  pocket  my  note- 
book, jotting  down  an  image  present  there  be- 
fore me,  which  seldom  failed  to  word  itself  to  a 
metrical  gait.  Strangely  these  multitudinous 
shreds,  plucked  during  many  visits  and  in  many 
moods,  at  last  began  to  coalesce  into  something 
like  a  world-view : 

Now    I    look   out  on  the  world  from  the  top  of 

sunny  Hymettus, 
Far    below    me    it  lies,    all   its   mad  struggle 

unheard ; 
And    its    bounds  on  the  farthest  sea  I    hold  in 

my  vision ; 
How    does    it   seem?    you    inquire.     Look  in 

these  epigrams  here, 
Hundreds  of  mirrors  I  place  them,  ever  retuni- 

inor  one  image. — 


ZTbe  Delpbtc  Xoup, 

Marathon,  Jan.  30,  1879. 

What  do  you  say  to  the  heading  of  this  letter? 
Could  you  have  dreamed  of  my  reaching  this 
spot  when  I  left  St.  Louis?  Still  here  I  am  at 
Marathon  writing  in  a  wineshop,  after  having 
run  over  the  old  battle-field  all  day.  Therd  must 
be  thirty  or  forty  denizens  of  this  town  now 
standing  around  and  looking  at  me. 

I  still  think  of  brigands,  on  account  of  the 
warnings  repeated  so  often  and  so  emphatically 
by  my  friends  both  American  and  Greek  at 
Athens.  Not  one  person  would  sanction  this 
trip,  and  most  tried  to  dissuade  me.  I  yielded 
for  a  time  to  their  admonitions.  But  finally  I 
(488) 


A    TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  489 

resolved  that  I  must  make  the  attempt  to  see 
primitive  Greece,  which,  as  I  had  both  heard 
aud  read,  was  still  to  be  found  in  the  Parnassian 
region.  Athens  had  indeed  griven  me  much,  but 
I  was  getting  satiated;  I  began  to  be  in  a  state 
of  reaction  against  it  as  previously  against  Rome, 
after  a  long  stay.  I  felt  that  Greece  still  had 
something  which  I  had  not,  and  which  was  not 
to  be  gotten  at  the  capital,  in  the  main  a 
modern  city.  So  another  end  has  risen  up,  to 
be  attained  beyond  Athens ;  I  hardly  know  what 
it  is  or  whether  attainable.  Nevertheless  I  am 
going  to  make  the  quest.  To-morrow  morning 
therefore,  I  shall  start  forward  again,  and  I 
shall  not  turn  back  to  Athens,  not  yet  at  least. 
[JSdiiorial  Note. — The  details  of  this  journey 
from  Athens  to  the  Parnassian  region  are  given 
in  the  Walk  in  IIellas.~\ 


AuUs,  Feb.  3rd,  1879. 

You  will  at  once  recognize  this  place  as  fa- 
mous in  Greek  legend ;  it  w^as  here  that  the  old 
Achteaus  gathered  under  the  leadership  of  Aga- 
memnon, and  set  out  for  Troy  in  order  to  restore 
Helen.  Such  a  mythical  atmosphere  hovers 
over  this  little  town,  now  Albanian  and  called 
Vathy.  The  ancient  story  comes  up  before  the 
imagination  and  is  wrouirht  over  with  many  a 
new  turn  and  transformation    of  heroic  shapes. 


490  THE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

But  I  must  tell  you  what  has  most  strongly 
taken  hold  of  me  in  this  locality :  Iphigenia,  the 
daughter  of  Agamemnon  and  her  sacrifice.  She 
has  thrown  into  the  background  every  other 
mythical  personage.  About  a  dozen  years  ago 
I  read  and  re-read  Goethe's  Iphigenia  in  Tauris 
and  was  strongly  impressed  by  it  in  a  number 
of  ways.  This  impression  was  deepened  by  a 
conversation  upon  it  with  Brockmeyer,  whose 
opinion  about  it  I  asked  in  a  casual  way.  He  at 
once  started  off  into  one  of  the  finest  disserta- 
tions on  Goethe  and  on  this  drama  that  I  ever 
heard  from  him  or  anybody  else.  He  was  at 
his  best.  You  know  that  he  does  not  and  per- 
haps cannot  control  his  supreme  moods  of  insight 
and  expression.  These  come  and  go  on  the  most 
trivial  pretext,  often  on  no  pretext  at  all.  Some 
years  later  I  read  and  studied  Goethe's  Iphigenia 
again,  along  with  the  two  Iphigenias  of  Eurip- 
ides. Again  I  asked  Brockmeyer  about  this 
subject,  trying  to  tap  that  wonderful  fountain 
once  more,  but  it  would  not  flow  except  in  un- 
satisfying droplets,  and  these  rather  turbid.  If 
he  could  have  written  out  and  fully  elaborated 
that  first  conversation,  it  would  have  been  the 
best  essay  of  its  kind  that  I  know  of.  I  sug- 
gested to  him  some  such  thing,  but  no!  he  had 
plunged  head  downward  into  Missouri  politics, 
where  he  still  sticks  fast,  with  his  better  parts 
neglected   if  not   obscured,     I  am  afraid.     You 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE  491 

need  not  tell  this  to  him,  as  it  would  probably 
cause  a  Vesuviaa  eruption.  Still  he  remains  the 
one  genius  of  all  men  known  to  me  personally — 
he  is  the  one  who  ought  to  be  taking  this  Greek 
trip  instead  of  me  and  re-creating  the  antique 
world  for  modern,  and  especially  for  American 
life,  which  he,  though  a  German,  understands 
profoundly. 

Thebes,  Feb.  5th,  1879. 

Another  great  name  of  an  historic  city  I  in- 
scribe as  the  caption  of  a  little  letter.  I  walked 
across  the  country  from  Aulis,  accompanied 
chiefly  by  one  image,  that  of  Iphigenia,  who 
somehow  would  not  leave  me.  Scenes  of  her 
drama,  or  rather  of  her  two  dramas  (at  Aulis 
and  at  Tauris)  kept  playing  before  my  mind,  and 
exciting  now  and  then  quite  a  little  outlay  of 
emotion.  For  how  could  I  help  putting  myself 
into  the  place  of  that  father  who  had  to  sacrifice 
his  daughter,  and  being  torn  with  sympathy  for 
both,  even  in  my  imaginings?  Let  me  confess  to 
you,  akindof  drama  has  outlined  itself  within  me 
on  this  subject  of  Iphigenia  different  from  the 
Euripideau  as  well  as  from  the  Goethean. 

After  sleeping  a  night  in  Thebes  I  wake  up 
with  a  new  figure  in  possession  of  me,  namely 
the  Theban  lyric  poet  Pindar.  A  copy  of  his 
works  I  by  a  kind  of  premonition  purchased  in 
Germany,    Dissen's    edition    with   notes,    which 


492  THE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

give  me  needful  help.  Already  in  Rome  I  had  a 
Pindaric  spell,  and  worked  into  his  lyrical  spirit, 
of  which  I  think  I  appropriated  quite  a  little.  He 
is  a  unique  part  of  that  grand  totality  of  Greek 
Literature,  a  part  different  from  its  epic  or  dra- 
matic phase.  So  I  take  him  in  hand  early  in  the 
morning,  and  start  up  Dirke,  the  little  runnel 
made  famous  by  him,  and  I  sauntered  musingly 
toward  the  plain  of  Platoea  where  the  great  battle 
took  place,  which  is  so  familiar  to  me  from  old 
Herodotus. 

Lehedeia,  Feb.  8th,  1879. 

Rain-bound  in  this  place  after  walking  from 
Thebes,  and  after  having  a  good  time  with  old 
Hesiod,  Helicon,  and  the  Muses,  all  to  myself, 
on  the  way  hither.  Lebedeia  (or  Livadia)  is 
quite  an  active  town  with  a  trade  life  of  its  own. 
The  Turks  in  their  day  made  a  good  deal  of  it — 
under  them  it  was  the  capital  of  Middle  Greece. 
The  chief  center  of  the  town,  at  least  now  (there 
is  an  election  pending  and  politics  are  lively )  is  the 
large  wine-shop,  where  the  men  come  together, 
smoke  and  drink  and  talk.  A  stream,  at  present 
swollen  with  the  falling  showers,  runs  past  the 
wine-shop  and  mingles  the  roar  of  its  waters  with 
the  political  buzz  of  the  people.  Between  the 
two  streams  I  am  lulled  to  sleep  in  my  chair  till 
Ploutarchos  plucks  me  by  the  arm  to  tell  me  that 
Lord  Byron  once  stayed  in  this  town,  dressed  in 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  493 

fez  and  fustauclla,  like  a  Greek.  Friend  Plou- 
tarchos  (Plutarch  in  English)  asks  me  why  I  do 
not  put  on  the  said  costume,  and  thus  "  become 
as  great  a  man  as  Lord  Byron."  I  suppose  that 
this  comparison  was  provoked  by  his  seeing  me 
take  out  my  note-book  in  the  wine-shop  and  jot 
down  an  item.  I  answered  carefully,  that  as  far 
as  I  yet  knew,  I  was  not  a  poet  like  Lord  Byron. 
And  still  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  different 
a  mood  from  mine  Greece  inspired  in  Byron's 
poems,  which  have  no  epigrams  in  the  old  sense 
or  form,  no  elegiacs,  no  classic  rhythm  but 
romantic  rhyme  mostly  in  Iambs  as  we  see  in 
Childe  Harold,  in  the  Giaour,  and  others. 
Byron,  you  know,  traveled  through  Greece,  and 
was  stimulated  by  it  to  much  poetizing,  some  of 
which  was  full  of  imagery  and  ecstasy.  The 
best  known  sample  runs : 

Maid  of  Athens  we  must  part, 
Give,  oh,  give  me  back  my  heart. 

Arachoba,  Feb.  11th,  1879. 

Unf orsettable  is  the  act  of  Demetrios  Petrides 
who,  seeing  me  to  be  a  stranger,  picked  me  up 
in  an  eating-house  and  insisted  upon  my  going 
home  with  him  to  his  family,  entertaining  me 
till  I  was  ready  to  leave  Lebedeia.  The  rain 
tied  me  up  two  full  days,  and  my  host  and  hostess 
never  wearied  in  their  friendly    attentions.     It 


49 4  THE ' D :: L  - ;:; c  lo up. 

was  my  first  experience  of  tliat  hospitality — the 
love  of  it  for  its  own  sake — which  the  rural  Greeks 
of  the  better  class  reo;ard  as  one  of  the  virtues. 
My  entertainer  was  truly  a  friend  of  the  stranger 
( philoxenos) :  he  put  into  my  hand  letters  to 
gentlemen  of  the  same  hospitable  spirit  who 
live  in  the  towns  through  which  I  intended  to  pass. 

And  now  I  have  come  to  Arachoba,  a  town  of 
several  thousand  people  lying  high  up  the  slope 
of  Parnassus,  not  so  very  far  from  its  peak. 
Actual,  natural  Parnassus,  the  old  seat  of  the 
Muses,  accordingly, lies  just  above  me,  visible  as 
a  real  object,  which  has  always  been  hitherto 
something  imaged  if  not  imaginary,  a  kind  of 
bodiless  symbol.  One  begins  to  feel  that  the  idea 
is  going  to  get  incorporate  in  this  Parnassian 
region. 

A  new  type  of  people  begins  to  show  itself. 
You  will  be  astonished  to  meet  the  golden-haired 
blue-eyed  woman  at  the  town  fountain,  along 
with  her  darker  sister.  The  people  still  assemble 
in  the  ancient  agora,  especially  in. the  adjoining 
wineshops  for  discussion.  On  Sunday  after 
church,  and  on  other  holidays  the  young  people 
and  some  of  the  old  ones,  can  be  seen  hurrying 
to  the  choros  or  the  place  for  song  and  dance  in 
the  open  air.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  caught 
certain  turns  of  Homeric  speech  which  I  have 
not  heard  elsewhere.  This  is  not  Athenian 
Greece,  though  there  are  some  educated  men  here 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  495 

from  tho  University.  I  cannot  help  feeling  a 
peculiar  character  in  this  lofty  mountain  town, 
a8  if  I  had  come  upon  a  primeval  strand  of  older 
Hellas  in  these  more  remote  and  secluded  portions 
of  the  country.  A  germinal  Greek  life  appears 
to  belong  to  this  locality,  having  its  roots  far 
back  in  antiquity. 

The  occupations  of  the  people  have  a  primitive 
cast;  chiefly  they  cultivate  the  vine  and  the 
olive,  though  there  are  also  herdsmen  on  the 
mountains  above.  A  native  idyllic  life  has  flow- 
ered out  u[)on  these  hill-sides  with  its  unsophis 
ticated  poetry.  I  watched  the  maidens  going 
down  into  the  olive  orchards  to  their  labor,  it 
was  to  me  a  beautiful  sight  for  its  suggestiveness. 
Have  I  here  really  gotten  back  to  the  beginning 
of  even  antique  Hellas?,  to  the  original  germ  of 
her  art  and  civilization? 

Delphi,  Feb.  13fh,  1879. 

Yesterday  I  reached  this  place  which  the 
ancients  deemed  the  navel  of  the  world,  the  cen- 
tral and  prophetic  part  of  the  universal  organism. 
Last  night  I  spent  at  the  Metochi,  a  religious 
foundation  whichgives  entertainment  to  strangers, 
and  which  is  pleasantly  situated  at  the  entrance 
to  the  little  hamlet,  on  the  rill  running  down 
from  Castalia.  I  have  wandered  about  the  place 
and  seen  the  location  of  the  old  temple,  of  which 
only  some  of  the  lower  stones  of  the  wall  are 


496  TEE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

visible.  In  its  enclosure  is  the  hut  of  an  aged 
veteran  of  the  Greek  Revolution ;  with  him  I 
strike  a  bargain  and  take  lod2:ment,  for  it  has 
become  already  plain  to  me  that  I  shall  have  to 
stay  here  some  days.  The  Delphic  problem  has 
risen  within  me  and  is  demanding  some  sort  of 
answer  before  another  step  forward  on  this 
journey  can  be  taken.  What  was  anciently 
upon  this  spot  anyhow?  Of  course  we  have 
often  heard  of  the  Oracle,  the  Pythia,  and 
Apollo  the  God  of  Light.  Herodotus  has  put 
prophetic  Delphi  into  the  very  heart  of  his  His- 
tory, and  revealed  it  as  the  center  of  the  Greek 
world  of  that  age,  namely  of  the  age  of  the 
Greco-Persian  War. 

Alread}'  I  have  been  quite  overwhelmed  at  the 
view  of  this  Nature  which  appears  before  me.  The 
physical  setting  of  the  old  Oracle  and  of  its 
temple  cannot  have  changed  much.  Mountain, 
vale,  cloud,  Parnassus  above,  the  rivulet  Pleistos 
belovr,  Castalia  and  its  deep  gorge  are  quite  same, 
even  if  earthquakes  have  toppled  down  some 
rocks  from  overhead.  Nature  is  still  here  with 
her  primordial  suggestion,  whispering  quite  as 
she  did  to  the  original  Greek  when  he  created 
Delphi  as  the  oracular  home  of  his  people. 

I  have  brought  with  me  the  image  of  Iphigenia 
from  Aulis,  where  she  took  strong  possession  of 
me,  quite  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 
Well,  she  has  re-appeared   here  at  Delphi  in  a 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  497 

series  of  dramatic  [)ictures,  having  returned  from 
her  long  stay  at  Tauris.  You  know  that  the  old 
legend  brings  her  back  to  Greece,  though  there  is 
no  ancient  poetic  embodiment  of  this  return  of 
Iphigenia,  as  far  as  I  am  aware.  But  her  life  is 
certainly  not  complete,  her  destiny  not  fulfilled 
(ill  she  is  restored  to  that  Greece  which  has 
sacrificed  her.  Goethe,  I  believe,  thought  of  an 
Iphigenia  at  Delphi,  but  never  did  much  with  the 
plan  ;  if  he  were  here  now  in  his  prime,  having 
come  by  way  of  Aulis,  he  would  have  carried  out 
his  project.  In  my  own  brain  certain  scenes  and 
characters  kce})  dancing  before  me  alluringly,  as 
if  they  had  a  wish  to  be  born  into  writ. 


Delphi,  Feb.  21st,  1879. 

Eight  days  I  have  now  stayed  in  Deli)hi, 
twice  as  long  as  I  at  first  intended.  On  this 
spot  there  is  a  peculiar  fascination,  different 
from  Athens  different  even  from  the  neighboring 
Arachoba.  Delphi  is  still  a  kind  of  oracle  giving 
dark,  yet  often  suggestive  responses  to  its  own 
multitudinous  problems,  some  of  which  reach 
far  back  into  crepuscular  Hellas.  In  fact  I  find 
myself  on  a  par  with  the  earliest  Greek  who 
settled  here  and  began  to  evolve  that  later  Del- 
piiic  world  which  we  know  best  from  the  Father 
of  History.  Here  is  still  the  original  germ  of 
Nature;  can  I  unfold  it  into  historic  Delphi,  or 

32 


498  TEE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

at  least  make  clear  to  myself  the  main  stages  of 
that  old  Delphic  evolution? 

I  know  you  will  be  asking  me,  how  is  your 
trilogy  of  Iphigenia  getting  along?  Well,  I  shall 
have  to  confess  to  you,  it  has  been  supplanted 
by  another  more  immediate,  more  insistent  in- 
terest. As  I  wandered  through  the  Olives  down 
the  Delphic  slopes,  looking  at  the  ever-shifting 
aspects  of  this  grandiose  Nature,  observing  the 
customs  of  the  people  in  this  environment,  and 
seeking  to  live  back  into  the  old  from  the  new, 
I  became  aware  of  a  change  goinff  on  within 
me,  a  change  of  delights,  of  loves  I  may  say. 
Iphigenia  began  to  withdraw  into  the  background, 
and  a  living  shape,  which  I  saw  flitting  through 
the  Olives,  slipped  into  her  place.  In  fact  the 
maidens,  often  grouped  in  a  kind  of  natural 
bunch  or  bevy,  often  singly  picking  the  olives  to 
a  song,  became  very  soon  the  center  of  the  Del- 
phic world  for  me,  having  thrust  both  antiquity 
and  modernity  into  the  background,  and  having 
started  me  to  making  responsive  strains  to  their 
ever-bubbling  lays.  So  I  answer  the  songs  of 
the  maidens  scattered  for  miles  through  the 
Olives.  Moreover  my  measures  soon  begin  to 
gather  about  one  name  and  one  person  of  course. 

Out  of  the  hundreds  one  I  select,  altogether  the 
fairest, 
For  without  just  the  one  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds are  none. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  499 

Now  I  ;im  going  to  tell  you  that  name,  which 
persists  iu  winding  through  all  my  fancies  and 
their  mainfold  cadences.  It  is  Elpinike,  which 
means  the  Victor^/  of  Hope,  certainly  a  beautiful 
thought  for  accompanying  a  beautiful  woman 
through  life.  There  was  an  ancient  Athenian 
Elpinike,  the  first  one  of  the  name,  as  far  as  I 
know ;  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  hero  Miltiades 
who  gained  the  battle  of  Marathon,  and  the 
sister  of  Cimon  into  whose  history  she  plays, 
having  won  by  her  beauty  the  hand  of  Callias, 
the  richest  Athenian,  who  furnished  the  money 
for  paying  the  fine  of  Miltiades.  Look  into 
Greek  history,  for  I  can't  rehearse  to  you  the 
rest  of  this.  But  what  I  wish  to  tell  you  is  that 
among  these  modern  Greek  folks  of  Parnassus 
the  name  is  still  alive.  I  first  heard  it  in  the 
house  of  my  host  at  Lebedeia,  where  it  was 
applied  to  one  of  the  daughters.  So  the  old 
lives  in  the  new  here,  preserving  and  re-vivifying 
the  ancient  names  of  persons,  and  possibly 
reaching  back  to  sources  beyond  history.  A 
Parnassian  Elpinike  may  have  existed  long  be- 
fore the  Athenian  Elpinike  was  born. 

Furthermore,  I  must  tell  you  that  my  over- 
flowing Delphic  fancies  still  run  into  the  elegiac 
mould,  of  which  I  have  already  said  to  you 
enough.  But  these  growing  distichs  seem  in- 
clined to  organize  themselves  into  a  new  sort  of 
a  whole,  into  a  form  different  from  those  which 


500  THE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

have  hitherto  unfolded  at  Rome  and  at  Athens. 
An  idyllic  tinge  pervades  this  Delphic  world  and 
necessarily  colors  any  picture  of  it,  making  the 
same  quite  distinct  from  an  urban  portrayal. 
When  the  matter  develops,  I  shall  be  able  to 
tell  you  more.  It  is  enough  to  say  just  now 
that  a  new  poetic  life  has  dawned  upon  me  at 
Delphi,  with  the  strong  impulse  to  attune  it  to 
the  music  of  measured  speech  in  the  mother- 
tongue. 

Great  as  is  the  deliffht  and  stimulation  of  this 
old-new  Parnassian  world,  I  have  resolved  to 
start  out  to-morrow  mornino-  for  Itea  which  lies 
on  the  Corinthian  gulf  and  is  the  seaport  of 
Deli)hi.  There  I  shall  take  the  Greek  steamer 
for  Corinth  and  round  out  my  little  journey 
rapidly  to  a  reasonable  degree  of  fullness,  taking 
a  dip  into  the  Peloponnesus. 


Corinth,  Feb.  23rd,  1879. 

Again  I  address  you  from  the  site  of  a  city 
famous  in  antiquity,  and  bearing  a  name  which 
winds  through  all  Greek  History.  I  write  this 
in  an  Albanian  hovel  with  a  very  dim  light  from 
a  paper  wick  floating  on  a  little  olive-oil.  All 
day  I  have  tramped  over  the  Isthmus ;  nothing 
much  is  to  be  observed  except  the  remarkable 
situation  between  two  seas  and  two  countries.  It 
is  plain  that  Corinth  was  more  completely    than 


A-TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  501 

any  other  ancient  city,  the  connecting  point  be- 
tween Orient  and  Occident,  and  could  have  made 
itself  the  chief  highway  of  commerce  between 
Asia  and  Europe.  Later  Constantinople  took  its 
place.  And  yet  Corinth  was  far  surpassed  in 
everything  by  Athens,  which  has  a  much  less 
favorable  site  for  naval  and  commercial  suprem- 
acy. Moreover  Corinth  added  almost  nothing  to 
the  spiritual  treasures  of  Greece  in  comparison 
with  Athens.  Whence  comes  this  difference,  I 
ask  myself,  raml)ling  over  the  waste  places  of 
old  Corinth  (there  is  a  new  Corinth  some  miles 
distant).  A  few  columns  (seven)  of  a  very  old 
Doric  temple  are  still  standing ;  perhaps  they  can 
tell  the  story  if  compared  with  the  Doric  columns 
of  the  Parthenon.  How  heavy,  uuideal,  sunk  in 
their  material  do  they  seem,  with  their  enor- 
mously protruding  capitals,  which  make  them 
look  like  toad-stools !  Then  the  dominant  wor- 
ship of  Venus  suggests  the  deepest  fact  of  the 
Corinthian  character,  as  the  worship  of  Pallas 
tells  us  what  is  the  fundamental  trait  of 
Athenian  spirit.  An  old  Oriental  (Phoenician) 
strain,  reaching  far  back  into  pre-historic  time 
seemed  always  to  make  itself  valid  at  Corinth,  in- 
dicated in  the  persistent  worship  of  the  Gods 
Astarte  and  Melkarth  (in  Greek,  Aphrodite  and 
Hercules). 

I  climbed  to  the    top   of  Acrocorinthus,   once 
the    most    important    citadel    of  Greece — what 


502  THE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

desolat'iDu !  I  think  I  must  have  invaded  the 
nest  of  some  eagles  for  several  circled  around  my 
head,  and  one  big  fellow  flew  so  near  that  I 
raised  mj  staff  for  a  fight  with  him.  The  view 
from  Acrocorinthus  is  very  fine;  one  sees  the 
small  neck  of  laud  between  the  two  bodies  of 
water,  and  thinks  of  the  old  canal  for  connecting 
them  and  of  the  old  wall  for  separating  the  Pelo- 
ponnesus from  Northern  Greece.  But  my  chief 
thouoht,  as  I  looked  over  the  water  toward  the 
Athenian  Acropolis,  which  I  could  see,  took  the 
form  of  this  question :  Why  should  the  World's 
History  turn  away  from  this  more  striking  and 
more  favorable  location,  and  choose  that?  This, 
being  on  the  direct  line  of  its  passage  out  of  the 
Orient  to  the  Occident,  is  spurned,  while  that, 
being  quite  to  one  side,  is  chosen; — is  there  any 
discoverable  reason  for  such  an  historic  deflec- 
tion? There  is,  I  believe,  and  herewith  enough 
of  this,  lest  I  may  begin  writing  a  Philosophy  of 
History  from  the  top  of  Acrocorinthus. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE  503 


'  Mycence,  Feb.  24th,  1879. 

So  it  came  about  that  uudor  a  bright  afternoon 
sun  I  entered  the  Lion's  Gate  of  golden  Mjcente, 
and  inspected  the  citidel  of  Agamemnon,  not 
neglecting  to  take  a  look  at  his  supposed  tomi) 
and  that  of  his  wife  Clytemnestra,  along  with 
the  other  sepulcres. 

Here,  then,  we  cutch  a  glimpse  of  the  Homeric, 
yea  pre-Homeric  time  in  these  huge  walls  and 
ruins.  The  whole  is  but  an  empty  and  broken 
shell  from  which  the  life  has  long  since  gone 
out;  still  we  may  read  in  these  remains  some- 
thing of  the  spirit  which  produced  them.  The 
wall,  with  its  enormous  boulders  piled  one  on  the 
other,  means  protection  of  the  budding  com- 
munity, and  of  its  God  and  king. 

More  strongly  than  even  Homer,  the  image  of 
Aeschylus  as  the  poet  of  the  Agamemnonian 
legend  perches  upon  the  citadel.  The  inner 
tragedy  of  the  conquerors  of  Troy — the  destroyers 
themselves  being  destroyed — reveals  the  blood- 
curdling Nemesis  of  his  theme,  in  the  course  of 
which  the  terrible  Furies  are  born  of  the  guilty 
deed.  But  that  noble  trilogy  (the  Oresteia)  has 
also  the  idea  of  atonement  and  reconciliation — a 
fact  which  gives  to  it  a  lofty  })lace  in  the  world's 
Great  Books. 

And  still  it  is  not  this  drama  of  Aeschylus  but 
perchance  an  off-shoot  of  it,  which  haunts  me  as 


504  THE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

I  sit  iu  the  sun  on  these  walls  or  kick  up  frag- 
ments of  ancient  pottery  from  this  soil.  I  con- 
fess to  you  that  the  form  of  Iphigenia  has  again 
risen  up  here,  with  a  new  and  coercive  power. 
She  had  appeared  before  in  my  journey,  at  Aulis, 
but  had  vanished  at  Delphi,  in  the  presence  of 
a  stronger  image.  Still  here  she  comes  again, 
with  tenfold  energy. 

But  the  sun  goes  down  and  all  the  ways  are 
darkened.  I  follow  the  path  to  the  small  hamlet 
of  Charvati,  which  is  not  far  off  and  where  I 
lodge  in  the  hut  of  the  keeper  of  the  antiquities 
of  My  cense. 

Argos,  Feb.  25th,  1879. 

To-day  I  have  been  rambling  around  in  the 
Aro-ive  plain,  and  have  landed  here  at  its  chief 
town,  where  I  shall  stay  over  night.  Early  this 
morninor  I  again  took  a  hasty  walk  to  what  I  call 
Iphigenia's  garden,  under  the  walls  of  Mycenae. 
But  soon  I  struck  out  into  the  road  for  Tiryns, 
another  dismantled  city  of  the  Homeric  (or  pre- 
Homeric)  age.  In  fact,  this  entire  Argolic  plain 
had  all  its  glory  in  the  mythical  period ;  its  light 
seems  to  go  out  when  history  arrives.  More- 
over, the  historical  fame  of  Argos  is  not  only 
small  but  bad;  it  sided  with  the  Persians  in  the 
o-reat  struggle  of  Hellas  with  the  Orient — which 
conduct  is  recorded  against  it  for  all  time  by  the 
Father  of  History. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  505 

Tiryns  has  remained  probably  in  its  present 
coiulition  since  its  destruction  by  Argos,  which 
destroyed  Mycenre  also  about  the  same  time 
(4(!8  B.C.)-  The  massive  walls  of  Tiryns  have 
always  excited  wonder.  A  strong  protection 
they  were  certainly — but  of  what?  Seemingly  of 
that  incipient  communal  life,  which  was  destined 
later  to  work  the  grand  Hellenic  miracle.  Tiryns, 
I  would  fain  believe,  is  an  early  form  of  the 
Greek  city,  which  as  an  infant  had  to  be  guarded 
and  nurtured  in  this  Cyclopean  cradle. 

A  Scotch  gentleman  whom  I  knew  at  Athens 
drives  up  in  a  carriage  not  far  from  Tiryns.  From 
him  I  get  the  latest  news — the  plague,  the  quar- 
antine and  other  disagreeable  occurrences  in  the 
world  from  which  I  have  been  cut  off.  I  might 
have  strolled  over  into  Arcadia  and  Sparta,  but 
I  feel  that  I  must  return  to  civilization  as 
soon  as  possible.  So  I  trudge  up  the  road,  some- 
what disquieted,  till  I  come  to  Argos  where  I  am 
now  located  for  the  night. 


506  THE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

Mycenos,  Feb.  26th,  1879. 

This  spot  insists  upon  another  visit  with  greater 
emphasis  than  ever.  You  may  laugh  at  me,  but 
Iphigenia  in  this  old  Argive  environment  has 
driven  out  Elpinike  of  Delphi.  What  am  I 
going  to  do  with  all  of  these  Greek  maidens, 
ancient  and  modern?  This  time  I  explored  the 
gorge  which  bounds  Mycenee  on  one  side.  Here 
I  plucked  some  flowers  from  Iphigenia's  garden; 
I  sat  down  upon  a  stone  seat  which  was  hers, 
or  could  have  been.  I  wandered  up  to  a  small 
spring,  near  which  I  built  the  temple  of  Artemis 
who  was  her  Goddess.  In  the  distance  the  sea  is 
visible,  and  on  it  floats  the  ship  of  Paris  bound 
for  Lacedsemon.  For  my  own  behoof  I  make  a 
festival  in  ancient  Mycenae,  at  which  Helen  ap- 
pears and  meets  Iphigenia.  One  is  the  sinner,  and 
the  other  is  the  sacrifice  for  the  sin.  Here  it 
touches  strangely  the  Christ  Story. 

Thus  I  toy  the  hours  away  from  early  morning 
till  nearly  noon.  Dear  me!  how  the  time  runs 
off  with  me  in  this  Elysium  !  And  yet  I  have  to 
reach  Corinth  to-night  on  foot  or  sleep  out  in  the 
mountains.  But  I  shall  stop  long  enough,  though 
it  kills  me,  to  tell  you  that  I  have  planned  an 
Iphigenia  at  Mycenm  as  a  stage  of  her  career 
antecedent  to  her  sacrifice  at  Aulis.  There  is  no 
account  of  any  such  drama,  or  any  separate  story 
of  it  as  far  as  I  know.     You  see  I  am  playing 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  507 

the  myth-maker  in  this  old  Greek  world — rather 
a  new  part  for  me.  That  is  indeed  the  final  test 
of  my  journey — can  I  make  that  old  mythical 
world  creative,  make  it  complete  itself  even  in 
our  modern  unmythical  time?  Now  I  pick  up 
my  knapsack  and  staff  and  hurry  out  of  the 
Lions'  Gate. 

Megara,  Feb.  28th,  1879. 

A  brief  note  from  this  miserable  town  of 
moderate  fame  in  antiquity,  I  must  send  you. 
The  first  trouble  of  my  journey  I  had  here,  within 
a  day's  walk  of  Athens.  An  officious  Greek  sol- 
dier proposed  to  arrest  me  as  a  klepht.  I  turned 
away  from  him  and  went  into  an  eating-house 
for  a  meal.  While  I  was  at  the  table,  a  man  in 
fustanella,  who  declared  that  he  was  a  policeman, 
entered  and  sat  down  in  front  of  me,  asking  who 
I  was  and  what  was  my  business.  I  told  him,  but 
as  that  did  not  satisfy  him,  I  added  that  I  was  an 
American  citizen  and  showed  him  my  pass-port. 
Of  course  he  could  not  read  it  and  said  I  must 
identify  myself  in  some  other  way.  I  took  this  to 
be  an  attempt  at  black-mail  and  resolved  to  resist 
on  the  spot.  I  asked  the  man  to  give  me  his  name 
in  writing,  and  I  gave  him  mine,  and  declared 
that,  if  he  detained  me,  I  would  report  him  at 
Athens,  and,  if  necessary,  appeal  to  the  American 
embassy.  Therewith  he  let  m«  go,  but  I  could 
not  help  thinking  he  must  have  remembered  that 


608  THE  DELPHIC  LOUP. 

American  frigate  which  once  appeared  in  the 
Piraeus  on  behalf  of  an  outraged  American  citi- 
zen, a  missionary  at  Athens.  After  I  went  to 
my  quarters,  the  fat  landhidy  tried  to  extort  from 
me  a  double  price  for  my  bed  —  which  again  I 
resented  with  emphasis  and  with  success.  So  I 
have  lost  my  Greek  mood  in  the  town  of  Megara, 
which  already  in  ancient  days  must  have  deserved 
the  punishment  which  Athens  dealt  out  to  it  just 
before  the  Peloponnesian  War.  At  least  in  that 
memory  I  am  finding  some  consolation.  But  my 
chief  delight  is  to  recall  old  Theognis,  who, 
though  a  native  of  Megara,  has  scored  its  short- 
comings, holding  them  up  for  reprobation  before 
all  the  future.  He  flourished  here  over  twenty 
four  hundred  years  ago  (birth  set  down  at  583 
B.C.).  And  another  co-incidence  I  cannot  well 
leave  out :  he  traveled  through  Greece  and  wrote 
epigrams  in  the  elegiac  measure.  So  I  salute  my 
hoary  predecessor  in  reeling  off  verses  and  in 
damning  Megara  —  and  thereby  get  into  a  good 
humor  again. 


aibcne  1111. 

Athens,  March  1st,  1879. 

To  the  surprise  of  friends  I  dropped  down 
upon  tlieiu  this  afternoon.  They  did  not  know 
what  had  become  of  me,  whether  I  was  lost 
somewhere  in  the  mountains  or  had  been  captured 
by  brigands.  Most  of  them  shook  their  heads 
at  the  account  of  my  solitary  perambulations, 
and  gave  me  credit  for  an  amount  of  courao;e 
which  certainly  my  exploits  did  not  deserve.  I 
did  my  best  to  relieve  the  hospitable  country 
people  from  the  stigma  of  brigandage,  giving  thus 
a  small  requital  for  their  favors  to  me  personally. 
Still  the  terror  of  Takos  and  his  band,  after 
nearly  nine  years,  causes  Athens  to  shiver  a  little 
in  memory. 

(509) 


510  ATHENS  II. 

I  was  very  glad  to  greet  again  two  other 
friends  to  whom  my  attachment  has  become 
strong — Parthenon  and  Hymettos.  These  im- 
personal loves  are  now  to  be  tested  by  the  recent 
Parnassian  experience,  which  has  not  quit  me  on 
entering  the  city.  By  the  way  I  found  here  my 
old  veteran,  who  gave  me  lodgment  at  Delphi, 
having  come  to  Athens  yesterday  on  business. 
He  visited  the  family  of  Dr.  Hill  (the  American 
Missionary)  where  he  produced  much  merriment 
at  my  expense  by  mimicking  me  as  I  stitched 
my  own  garments,  and  as  I  would  sit  on  a  stone 
writing  in  a  book,  and  as  I  would  look  at  the 
girls  going  down  into  the  orchards.  The  old 
fellow  declared  that  1  would  rather  wander  about 
and  see  the  koritzi  (maidens)  picking  the  olives 
from  the  ground  and  the  trees,  than  sit  in  the 
wineshop  among  men  and  drink  and  talk  politics. 
Certainly  I  was  an  oddity,  of  which  he  had  been 
able  to  make  nothing,  and  I  imagine  his  opinion 
reflected  that  of  modern  Delphi,  perchance  of 
modern  St.  Louis. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  511 


Athens,  March  1st,  187 9. 

Here  I  am  again  at  Athens  after  a  trip  of 
nearly  five  weeks  in  the  provinces.  But  I  find 
some  changes ;  first  of  all  I  am  quarantined  out 
of  Europe,  I  might  say  out  of  the  world  on 
account  of  the  plague  in  Russia.  I  had  intended 
to  return  soon  to  Italy — but  who  can  say  now 
what  is  to  be  done.  I  wnly  tell  you  this  in  order 
to  inform  you  that  just  at  this  moment  I  have 
no  plan;  external  powers  have  interfered,  I  must 
cast  about  for  something  else.  So  I  still  can 
give  no  definite  answer  to  your  inquiries  con- 
cerning my  return.  I  hope  that  in  a  few  days 
the  quarantine  will  be  removed — but  this  is 
merely  a  hope;  in  the  mean  while  I  can  delight 
myself  with  pleasent  fancies  of  home  and  of 
friends,  when  I  can  not  possess  the  reality.  But 
I  have  here  agreeable  acquaintances  who  are  ever 
ready  to  kill  an  hour  or  so  stone-dead  with  me. 

The  second  change  is  in  myself.  I  discovered 
it  some  hours  ago  on  looking  into  the  mirror — 
the  vain  fellow  !  It  is  that  my  complexion,  never 
fair,  has  quite  turned  to  that  of  a  Hottentot 
under  this  Grecian  sun.  One  white  streak  alone 
remains  to  indicate  my  race :  that  lies  in  my 
forehead  where  the  forepiece  of  my  cap  gave 
some  protection  against  the  Africanising  sun- 
beams. Imagine  me  climbing  up  and  down 
mountains,  passing  over  plains,  threading  through 


612  ATHENS  II. 

valleys — always  in  a  sturdy  tramp,  one,  two, 
three,  day  in  and  day  out — ^you  will  see  that  old 
Helios  had  a  good  chance  to  blacken  me  well. 
But  he  was  otherwise  very  hospitable  to  the 
stranger;  especially  during  the  last  week  he 
never  hid  his  face  once  in  his  cloudy  folds  in 
order  to  dash  a  rainstorm  upon  me,  nor  on  the 
other  hand  did  he  in  rage  hurl  down  his  showers 
of  burning  rays. 

But  what  about  my  trip?  I  can  not  now  tell 
you  the  details,  it  would  take  too  long;  besides, 
I  want  to  have  something  new  for  you  when  I 
return.  It  was,  however,  based  on  two  main 
principles :  on  foot  and  alone.  That  is,  I  walked 
the  whole  distance,  except  a  small  stretch  by 
water,  which  I  could  not  well  walk;  also  I  was 
without  a  companion  of  any  kind.  I  saw  the 
Greek  people  of  to-day ;  slept  in  their  cabins,  ate 
with  my  fingers,  sat  cross-legged  at  their  tables 
flat  on  the  floor,  flirted  a  little  with  their 
daughters;  in  general  I  felt  their  pulse  throbbing 
live  red  blood,  to  the  extent  of  my  ability.  The 
result  is  an  image  of  the  physical  aspects  of  the 
country  and  an  idea  of  the  inhabitants  which 
just  at  present  refuses  to  let  itself  be  expressed 
in  language ;  wait  a  year  or  so  and  I  may  be  able 
to  utter  it  to  you.  I  saw  the  scenes  of  the  most 
famous  conflicts  in  the  world's  history-Marathon, 
Platsea,  Salamis,  not  to  mention  other  places  of 
lesser  note — all   still  echoing,    so    the    traveler 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  513 

imagines,  with  the  clangor  of  arms  and  the  neigh- 
ing of  war-steeds  and  the  chish  of  ships.  Also 
Mycenai  I  beheld — that  grand  palace  overflowing 
with  the  poetry  of  thirty  centuries,  filled  to-day 
with  a  crowd  of  heroic  personages  that  still 
move  along  its  ruined  walls  with  a  startling  dis- 
tinctness. Let  me  tell  you  a  fragment  of  my 
delight :  I  spoke  to  Iphigenia,  the  beautiful  Greek 
maiden,  daughter  of  Agamemnon,  when  I  saw 
her  in  her  garden  watering  flowers  just  back  of 
the  King's  palace. 

But  on  the  whole  the  region  which  attracted  me 
most  was  the  Parnassus,  with  its  high  moun- 
tains and  beautiful  valleys,  with  its  rosy-cheeked, 
blue-eyed,  joyous  people.  Here  some  voice 
commanded  me  to  stop  in  my  journey,  whether 
it  was  the  voice  of  one  of  the  Muses  from  off 
the  summit  of  Parnassus,  I  dare  not  say:  for  I 
may  be  mistaken,  like  so  many  good  people  in 
these  days,  who  have  thought  that  they 
heard  the  voice  of  a  Muse  whereas  it  is  only  the 
invisible  cackle  of  a  wild  goose  flying  over.  But 
I  obeyed  the  command  speaking  down  from  the 
heiorhts,  and  was  rewarded.  At  Arachoba — a 
town  just  under  the  highest  peak  of  Parnassus — 
are  the  prettiest  women  in  all  Greece ;  so  I  heard 
everywhere  along  the  road  from  the  Greeks 
themselves.  There  I  remained  some  days ;  but 
I  made  the  longest  stay  in  the  neighboring  vil- 
lage   of    Castri — the    ancient     Delphi,      where 

33 


514  ATHENS  II. 

bubbles  up  still  in  full  beauty  and  transparency 
the  Castalian  fountain.  Fourteen  days  about  I 
spent  in  the  Parnassian  region — alas !  now  I  look 
back  and  find  that  the  time  was  altogether  too 
short. 

Here  I  found  what  is  doubtless  the  original 
germ  of  the  old  Hellenic  stock.  It  is  only  as  yet 
a  germ  still  undeveloped ;  nevertheless  from  it 
sjirang  the  ancient  Greek  with  all  his  culture, 
and  under  similar  institutions  he  would  again 
sprout  into  being.  But  modern  education  makes 
the  Greek  a  European ;  thus  the  natural  develop- 
ment of  the  original  germ  is  thwarted,  being 
turned  aside  into  somethinoj  foreign  and  destruc- 
tive  of  its  true  nature.  But  cease  thy  specu- 
lation on  matters  remote  and  uncertain,  says  my 
guardian  spirit :  tell  the  young  ladies  about  the 
dance  on  the  village  green,  wherein  thou,  along 
with  the  youths  and  maidens  of  Arachoba,  didst 
join  in  the  chorus  to  the  sound  of  the  pipe  and 
the  drum. 

Sunday  afternoon  the  whole  village  turns  out 
to  the  place  of  the  dance ;  a  circle  is  formed  by 
joining  hands  and  the  movements  begin.  White 
and  red  are  main  colors  both  in  the  garments  and 
in  the  faces — all  of  which  now  commence  to 
wind  around  and  through  one  another  in  light 
graceful  curves.  There  is  no  wild  extravagance 
in  the  measure,  no  labyrinthine  intricacy  in  the 
figures;   an  easy    delightful  rhythm  of   body  is 


A  TOUIi  IN  EUROPE.  515 

sought,  which  breathes  a  quiet  harmony,  almost 
repose.  The  eye  catches  the  phiy  of  the  move- 
ments and  of  colors,  and  is  quietly  rocked  in 
cheerful  unison  with  the  vibrations  of  that  rinor 
of  living  bodies.  You  now  begin  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  what  the  old  chorus  was  in  its  bloom  ; 
the  nature  of  the  old  Greek  lyric  poetry  with  its 
complicated  meter  dawns  dreamily  upon  you,  as 
you  cast  about  for  the  ground  of  its  existence 
expressed  in  this  peculiar  music  and  movement. 
Such  was  my  state  of  mind  when  a  friendly  hand 
grasped  mine  and  led  me  into  the  circle.  After 
a  modest  protest  I  stepped  along  with  the  dancers, 
though  my  step  and  still  more  my  dress  were 
discordant  notes  in  that  harmonius  company. 
It  was  not  so  difficult  to  catch  the  'rhythm  of 
their  motions,  and  so  I  swung  along  without 
exertion  to  the  sound  of  the  music  and  to  the  sway 
of  the  bodies.  But  my  dark  long  overcoat  and 
cape  and  European  pantaloons  did  not  belong 
there.  The  incongruity  made  the  whole  as- 
sembled people  laugh,  but  I  danced  on  and 
laughed  too  at  myself.  The  greatest  advantage 
was  that  while  moving  around  with  the  circle, 
I  had  a  good  opportunity  to  look  right  into 
the  faces  of  all  the  pretty  girls  in  the  town, 
with  roses  in  their  cheeks  and  lilies  on  their 
brows.  I  looked  eagerly  and  intently,  for  here 
in  Greece  I  have  everywhere  been  hunting 
after  the  ancient  Gieek  type  of    female  beauty. 


516  ATHENS  II. 

that  type  which  the  old  sculptors  must  have 
had  before  theiu  when  they  made  their  Goddes- 
ses. I  saw  that  old  type,  I  am  confident,  but 
undeveloped,  untrained,  still  in  its  primitive 
rustic  garb.  Many  a  face  is  here  which  contains 
the  possibilities  of  what  we  now  see  in  marble. 
Also  I  have  seen  in  the  faces  of  women  working 
in  the  fields  and  picking  up  olives,  the  most 
finely  turned  lines  as  well  as  the  most  delicately 
knit  features.  Not  all  are  so  by  any  means, 
but  some  are,  and  that  too  women  ignorant, 
poor,  grubbing  every  day  in  the  earth  for  a 
living. 

This  was  not  the  only  time  that  I  joined 
in  the  dance  during  my  journey:  also  on  the 
Isthmus  of  Corinth  I  came  upon  the  villagers 
delighting  themselves  with  the  melody  of  move- 
ment, and  I  at  once  took  part  in  their  happy  and 
innocent  pastime. 

What  do  you  think  of  such  a  climate?  People 
dancing  in  the  open  air  during  winter,  dressing 
themselves  in  shining  white  garments  which 
set  off  their  graceful  forms  and  easy  move- 
ments, with  heads  uncovered  and  tresses  that 
fall  in  one  braid  down  the  back — the  young 
maidens  of  Parnassus  have  certainly  divine 
privileges.  Bright  and  kindly  shi»nes  the  sun 
as  I  look  on  that  company,  everybody  is  com- 
fortable and  in  happy  mood ;  the  day  is  a 
sweet   embrace  of  earth  and  heaven.     Yet  look 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  517 

up  yonder  above  the  town ;  there  is  snow  and 
winter  in  the  mountains;  a  two  hours'  walk  will 
bring  you  to  the  climate  of  Canada.  Take  your 
choice  of  seasons ;  here  they  are  not  separated 
by  the  solstices,  but  only  by  a  snow-line.  In 
the  valley  below  are  olives  and  oranges;  the 
alniond  trees  are  already  in  bloom;  but  above  are 
bleak  pine  forests  with  limbs  in  a  case  of  ice. 
Parnassus  is  the  world,  and  weak  man  can  here 
make  the  circle  of  the  zodiac  in  a  day,  while  it 
takes  divine  Helios  a  year  to  perform  the 
same  task.  What  wonder  is  it  that  this  God 
concluded  to  come  down  from  the  skies  and  stay 
here  inhis  favorite  abode  at  Delphi,  having  taken 
the  name  and  form  of  Phoebus  Apollo? 

I  am  afraid  you  may  think  that  I  am  getting 
as  dark  in  my  utterances  as  the  famous  oracle  was 
at  that  i)lace.  I  shall  break  off  at  once  to  tell 
that  I  have  enclosed  this  time  a  flower  plucked 
from  Iphigenia's  garden.  I  found  it  growing  in 
the  little  valley  behind  Mycenae.  To  which  there 
is  an  easy  descent  from  the  palace  above ;  I  have 
no  doubt  that  it  is  a  lineal  descendant  of  the 
flowers  of  the  Atrida}.  It  stood  all  alone  with  its 
slight  modest  form  bent  over,  looking  towards 
the  ground ;  about  it  everywhere  were  only  rude 
rocks  that  seemed  to  threaten  with  some  violence 
the  delicate,  unresisting,  beautiful  shape.  It  was 
Iphigenia's  flower,  I  have  no  doubt  of  the  fact, 


518  ATHENS  II. 

and  its  ancestors  were  reared  and  trained  by  her 
hands. 

I  also  picked  up  some  other  treasures  around 
Myccnse  which  I  would  gkidly  send  you  by  leister, 
but  I  can  not,  on  account  of  their  weight  and 
refractory  material.  I  mean,  I  have  some  frag- 
ments of  Iphigenia's  pottery,  which,  if  the  lands 
and  seas  between  do  not  covet  them  of  me,  you 
shall  have  in  good  season,  each  one  of  you  a  piece. 
They  are  of  no  account,  merely  bits  of  burnt  clay 
lying  loose  in  the  soil ;  their  only  value  is  that 
they  once  belonged  to  Iphigenia,  were  a  part  of 
her  toilet,  held  precious  unguents  and  perfumes 
when  they  were  entire.  Behold  the  vases;  there 
they  stand  arranged  in  her  room ;  she  takes  first 
the  one,  then  the  other  down  from  the  shelf 
when  she  is  making  herself  beautiful  for  the 
dance,  to  which  she,  the  King's  daughter,  des- 
cends from  the  high  palace.  But  I  must  leave 
you,  my  dear  young  ladies,  to  complete  the 
details  of  the  picture,  since  you  are  far  better 
acquainted  with  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet  than 
I  am  ! 

It  seems  to  have  given  you  some  trouble  to 
interpret  my  meaning  when  I  told  you  I  had 
eaten  of  the  honey  of  Hymettus — that  famous 
classical  diet.  But  now  I  shall  have  to  add  to 
the  fog  instead  of  chasing  it  off  with  a  sunbeam: 
I  have  also  drunk  of  the  water  of  Castalia — that 
famous  classical  draught.     What  can  he  mean? 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  519 

I  hear  you  cry — Is  our  dear  teacher  going  crazy 
all  alone,  so  far  from  home?  No,  it  is  only  the 
influence  of  the  Delphic  oracle  which  still  exerts 
a  subtle  mystery  in  those  mountains.  Wait, 
wait,  and  in  time  the  priestess  will  give  a  clear 
answer  to  all  of  your  perplexing  questions.  But 
I  must  stop,  the  fog  is  growing  to®  thick;  we 
shall  never  tiud  our  way  out  unless  we  turn  to 
the  end  right  now. 

Athens,  March  7th,  1879. 

It  has  now  been  about  a  week  since  I  returned 
from  the  provinces,  and  I  already  am  thinking 
of  resuming  my  trip.  Athens  can  be  unpleasant, 
which  is  the  case  just  now;  there  is  a  strong 
wind,  and  one  can  not  go  into  the  streets  with- 
out beins:  enfolded  in  a  cloud  of  blinding  dust. 

If  I  could  give  you  a  picture  of  myself  at  this 
moment,  I  would  bring  myself  before  you,  as 
I  now  sit  in  this  rocking-chair  enjoying  a  hearty 
laugh.  For  this  thought  will  intrude  itself  upon 
me  in  a  comic  light,  with  a  very  reflective  under- 
tone :  why  did  those  Greek  country-girls  exercise 
such  a  fascination  upon  me?  It  is  a  ridiculous 
question,  yet  my  actions  were  equally  ridiculous; 
I  am  just  now  looking  back  at  myself  and  find 
that  I  was  a  comic  character.  Imagine  me  roam- 
iug  through  olive  orchards,  standing  for  hours 
along  the  road,  summoning  into  activity  every 
faculty    that    I  have  for  attracting  people — all 


520  ATHENS  II. 

for  what?  Just  in  order  that  I  may  see  and  in 
some  fortunate  cases  may  converse  with  rustic 
maidens  dressed  in  the  rudest  garments  of  the 
peasantry  and  sometimes  in  tatters,  ignorant 
beyond  measure,  not  being  able  to  read  a  syllable 
of  their  maternal  tongue,  who  have  never  been 
outside  of  their  native  valley,  who  go  every  day 
into  the  fields  and  work  like  men ;  what  do  you 
say  to  that  ?  Laugh  along  with  me  that  I,  only 
within  a  few  steps  of  forty  years  of  age,  should 
do  such  things.  If  you  have  seen  any  better 
comedy  recently,  you  are  a  lucky  man.  Not- 
withstanding my  own  consciousness  of  the  ridic- 
ulous situation,  I  was  absorbed  in  the  chase, 
highly  excited  and  several  times  roaring  mad 
with  disappointment. 

Now  I  ask  myself  the  serious  question :  Why 
is  this?  Moreover  I  find  that  some  other  men 
have  occasionally  been  afflicted  with  the  same 
disease.  They  have  made  themselves  ridiculous 
by  chasing  after  the  country  girls  of  Parnassus. 
It  is,  then,  a  not  uncommon  impulse,  shared 
often  by  those  who  have  no  right  to  love — which 
at  least  is  not  my  case,  as  you  know.  People 
with  an  ideal  instinctively  ask  after  and  look  for 
the  woman  in  Greece.  It  is  the  old  story,  they 
want  to  find  Helen  who  still  fascinates  the  world; 
when  they  come  here  the  first  question  that  they 
ask  is,  where  is  Helen?  They  wander  through 
the  streets  of  the  capital  and  do  not  find  her; 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  621 

often  their  imagimitiou  tricks  them  for  a  little 
while,  but  the  fiuul  unwilling  conclusion  is  that 
she  does  not  live  at  Athens.  So  off  they  go  to 
the  provinces,  and  I  believe  that  nine  travelers 
out  of  ten  will  say  that  in  the  Parnassian  region 
may  be  seen  the  possibility,  though  not  the 
reality,  of  the  old  Greek- ideal. 

Here,  my  friend,  I  have  been  on  a  search,  I 
may  say,  for  some  living  embodiment  of  Helen. 
Can  you  wonder  then  that  I  looked  into  the  face 
of  every  Parnassian  woman  and  girl  whom  I  met? 
It  is  st-range  how  the  whole  world  is  hunting  for 
this  lost  ideal  just  now.  Art  has  again  become 
a  necessity  for  human  beings;  it  furnishes  props 
for  the  droopmg  soul  which  rcligi«n  seemingly 
can  not  give;  many  would  like,  for  a  time  at 
least,  to  throw  themselves  back  into  that  old 
Greek  world  and  be  again  whole  and  happy. 
And  it  can  be  done ;  we  can  still  enter  the  temple 
of  beauty,  restore  the  statues  of  the  Gods,  and 
to  a  certain  degree  worship,  that  is,  we  can  be 
filled  with  reverence  and  joy.  So  everywhere 
we  seek  Helen,  the  eternal  woman  of  beauty,  and 
sometimes  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  form 
darting  through  marble  colonnades  or  reposing 
in  the  sunlight  by  a  fountain. 

Somehow  or  other  in  Greece  alone  do  we  ex- 
pect to  find  Helen — not  a  wife  by  any  means, 
but  quite  a  different  entity.  The  simple  country 
people,  however,  can  not  understand  the  nature 


522  ATHENS  II. 

of  this  strange  pursuit.     They  at  once  imagine 
that   the  foreigner  has  come   into   their  rocky 
abodes  to  get  married.     Such  at  least  I  judge  to 
be  the  case  by  the  repeated  offers  made  to  me  of 
a  Parnassian  spouse  with  a  handsome  dowry  of 
olive  trees.     The  peasants  saw  the  interest  with 
which  I  regarded  their  mountain  beauties,  having 
come  all  the  way  from  America  just  to  see  them 
— what  could  they  help  thinking?     That  impal- 
pable Greek  ideal  which  enchants  the  whole  world 
and  beckons  to  it  afar  just  from  these  summits  of 
Parnassus,  they  can  not  see,  though  right  under 
its  snowy  peak  to-day.     So  they  thought,  when 
I  looked  so  long  and  intently  on  the  sweet  little 
peasant  girl  Marina,  that  I  intended  to  carry  her 
off  across  the  ocean.     Something    far    different 
would  I  like  to-  carry   off,  could  I  but  lay  hold 
of  it. 

Of  those  two  ways  which  man  takes  in  order 
to  express  what  is  deepest  within  him,  Religion 
has  as  its  supreme  type  a  masculine  being — a 
God — while  Art  employs  for  its  supreme  type  the 
feminine  in  some  form.  People  will  turn  away, 
in  certain  frames  of  mind  at  least,  from  the  God, 
from  the  masculine  ideal ;  it  is  too  just,  too  severe 
and  heroic,  perhaps  too  intellectual.  That  which 
jgives  solace  and  happiness  is  the  woman ;  in  con- 
templation she  becomes  the  ideal  of  Art  which 
thus  is  the  true  mediator  of  man.  Do  you  know 
that  I  feel  a  secret  restoration  here  as  regards  re- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  523 

litrion?     All  old  iuclination  has  bccQ  intensified 

o 

through  the  comparison  of  ancient  and  modern 
Greece,  which  is  here  forced  upon  the  mind. 

But  the    chief  enjoyment  which  my    Delphic 
trip  imparted  was  the  gbrious  mood  which  this 
Grecian  scenery  everywhere  calls  forth.     It  may 
partly  lie  in  the  associations,  but  it  also  partly  lies 
in  the  climate  and  in  nature  to   inspire  the  hap- 
piest harmony  of  the  emotions.     All  the  while  a 
kind  of  unwritten  music  was  playing  within  me; 
there  was  such  a    concord  between  earth,  sky, 
and  sun,  that  it  attuned  the  soul;  even  the  voice 
sometimes  felt   impelled    to  give  a  slight  utter- 
ance to  that  which  was  going  on  within.       "What 
is  this  invisil)le  influence  which  seems  to  come 
down  from  the  tops  of  Helicon?  So  I  asked-  my- 
self, as  I  stepped  along  the  road,  alone,  on  foot, 
entirely    resigning    myself  to    the  thrill  of  this 
peculiar  harmony.     It  must  be  that  subtle  power 
which  the  ancients  called  the  Muses,  and  located 
here  and   built  for  them  a  sanctuary  with   song 
and  sacrifice — a  hymning  power  that  takes  pos- 
session of  men  and  makes  them  utter  these  har- 
monious things.     So  they  invoked  the  Muses  to 
breathe  into  their  strains  this  joyous  concordant 
spirit ;   such  was  the  old  Poet.     He  then  became 
a  holy  instrument  of  song,  because  he  could  put 
into  the  word   the  unuttered  promptings  of   this 
glorious  Nature.      All    men    heard  that    power 


524  ATHENS  II. 

speaking  iu  his    song,  like   oracles  which   they 
had  before  aierely  felt  in  the  mountains. 

Of  course  this  is  not  all  which  one  meets  with 
in  such  a  trip.  The  ancient  poetical  types  rise 
out  of  the  deep,  those  divine  shapes  which  seem 
eternal  on  account  of  their  beauty.  At  Aulis 
who  does  not  think  of  Iphigenia;  nay,  who  does 
not  make  a  new  Iphigenia,  adding  another  to 
those  already  in  existence?  Such  a  power  has 
this  shape,  everlastingly  reproducing  itself  in  the 
new  ages,  which  pour  their  own  spirit  into  it, 
and  thus  Iphigenia  remains  ever  young.  Such 
is  the  company  which  that  solitary  pedestrian 
has  had  all  through  Greece. 


Athens,  March  12th,  1879, 

This  is  my  last  day  in  Athens,  to  night  at 
12  o'clock  I  shall  set  out  for  Delphi  again.  This 
may  be  considered  as  the  day  on  which  1  turn 
around  in  my  journey,  turn  around  and  set  my 
face  toward  the  Far  West,  toward  Home.  But 
the  return  will  be  slow,  and  like  other  wanderers 
in  the  skies  I  shall  gradually  increase  in  velocity 
as  I  approach  that  grand  luminary  called  Father- 
land, which  now  will  shine  in  my  face  every  day. 
I  can  not  yet  tell  the  exact  day  or  month  of  my 
arrival ;  this  is  beyond  my  mathematical  cal- 
culation, but  from  present  appearances  it  will  be 
some  time  between   the  beginning  ^and    end   of 


A  TOUn  IN  EUROPE.  628 

summer.  I  feel  that  I  luive  plucked  the  chief 
fruit  of  my  travels;  I  have  climbed  to  the  high- 
est points  of  my  little  tree,  bent  over  the  last 
sprig  uud  grasped  the  apple  at  its  summit ;  uow 
I  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  descend  and  cull 
a  little  fruit  on  my  way  down  through  the 
branches. 

A  day  or  two  ago  I  went  out  to  the  Hymettus 
for  the  last  time.  No  object  of  inanimate  nature, 
certainly  no  mountain  has  ever  seized  hold  of  me 
so  strongly  as  thi.s  hilly  outline.  I  have  often 
taken  a  walk  to  its  summit  and  along  its  sides, 
and  from  the  city  many  times  a  day  I  have 
looked  up  at  it  lying  calmly  and  clearly  in  the  soft 
blue  haze ;  what  is  it  in  the  wizard  that  trans- 
forms the  soul  into  his  own  mild  image  of  re- 
pose? But  this  time  there  was  a  new  tinge  in  the 
emotions,  caused  by  the  reflection:  I  shall  not, 
friendly  mountain,  soon  see  thee  again.  It  is 
not  a  high  precipice,  not  a  deep  gorge,  it  is 
nothing  extravagant;  it>  is  simply  an  harmonious 
work  of  Nature  with  all  the  noble  moderation 
and  serene  ecstasy  of  Greek  Art. 

This  may  be  only  a  classic  memory  which 
takes  a  bare  rock  and  transmutes  it  into  a  mirac- 
ulous hill  of  poetry.  Very  well,  let  it  be  merely 
a  fancy.  I  aqi  content  provided  we  get  the 
poetry  ;  Ilymcttus  still  remains  a  wonderful  stone 
which  Mineralogy  can  not  classify.  As  far  as 
prosaic  science  goes,  what  is  it  but  a  conglomerate 


526  ATHENS  II. 

mass  of  rock  and  brambles?  Many  other  masses 
far  surpass  it  in  quality  and  quantity,  still  they 
have  no  song,  and  evoke  no  song.  What  are  the 
genus  and  species  of  Hymettus?  You  laugh  at 
the  man  who  would  look  into  a  scientific  book  to 
answer  such  a  question.  Hymettus  is  not  amen- 
able to  science  :  only  can  it  be  seen  when  reflected 
in  the  fountain  of  the  Muses.  A  biologist  hear- 
ing my  praises  of  the  mountain,  might  ask  me 
if  I  had  found  the  bones  of  a  new  species  of 
monkey  there,  thinking  probably  that  Hymettus 
might  furnish  the  missing  link. 

So  we  mortals  dance  through  this  phantasmo- 
gory  called  the  world,  each  of  us  has  a  little 
inner  Paradise  of  our  own  at  the  same  time,  thus 
we  are  and  thus  we  seem  to  be.  It  is  but  too 
manifest  that  what  many  people  call  solid  facts 
are  only  a  foundation  for  the  gorgeous  palaces 
of  Spain. 

Of  course  what  can  I  do  to-day  but  pay  a  visit 
to  the  Parthenon,  the  first  and  last  object  in  the 
eye  and  in  the  heart  of  the  stranger?  I  pass 
through  the  old  theatre  of  Bacchus  and  still  try 
to  see  the  actors  and  the  audience,  and  to  hear 
the  old  poetic  strain.  What  could  it  have  been 
that  made  just  this  spot  overflow  with  the  world's 
fountain  of  beauty?  Look  down. across  the  plain 
toward  the  sea,  behold  the  blue  waters  and  the 
clear  skies,  with  the  hills  and  their  olive  trees 
lying  so  quietly  but  so  joyously  in  this  spring 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROrE.  527 

sun ;  here  is  the  mood  of  the  Greek  Muse  and 
you  feel  her  subtle  breath.  So  the  audience  from 
these  stone  steps  looked  out  into  the  open  air,  all 
the  while  hearing  the  echoes  of  this  beautiful 
Nature  from  the  words  spoken  on  the  stage. 
Not  confined  in  a  close  room  by  gaslight,  they 
were  poetically  attuned  by  a  glance  into  the 
distance  where  they  saw  that  harmony  which 
found  its  supreme  utterance  in  their  Art.  But 
a  somewhat  pensive  color  darkens  my  mood 
to-day,  which  even  casts  a  slight  shadow  against 
the  sun:  this  is  the  last  time  that  I  shall  look  upon 
the  scene. 

But,  my  friend,  I  am  detaining  you  and  myself 
too  long  at  the  foot  and  on  the  sides  of  the  hills ; 
let  me  at  once  pass  by  all  other  lesser  glories  and 
enter  the  Propylaia.  This  is  the  Portal,  and  it 
has  become  a  type  of  entrance  into  the  realm  of 
the  Beautiful,  being  itself  one  of  the  supreme 
products  of  Art.  The  happy  man  who  is  being 
inducted  into  the  higher  resjions  of  the  Acro- 
polis,  stops  and  looks;  he  would  fain  stay  here 
for  a  long  time,  as  it  suggests  in  the  most  subtle 
yet  transparent  manner  all  the  glories  which  lie 
within.  The  beautiful  Gate  unto  the  Beautiful— 
that  is  the  Propylaia. 

Now  we  pass  through  this  Gate — then  looking  up 
we  behold  in  the  fullest  revelation  the  Parthenon  ; 
all  at  once  it  breaks  out  of  space  on  the  view  at 
the  most    favorable  point   for  grasping  it    as  a 


528  ATHENS  II. 

whole.  The  columns  are  all  seen  in  their 
totality  moving  around  the  temple,  the  metopes 
above  show  various  phases  of  human  struggle ; 
the  sculptures  would  come  out  in  the  boldest  re- 
lief if  they  were  here  and  not  in  London,  whence 
they  must  at  present  be  supplied  by  the  fancy. 
But  1  can  not  talk  to  you  about  details,  to-day  I 
hardly  looked  at  them ;  I  only  beheld  the  entire 
structure.  Why  should  I  study  like  a  pedant  the 
last  day,  the  day  of  final  separation?  So  I  re- 
mained several  hours  there  just  looking  at  the 
face  and  form  of  the  beautiful  virgin  Parthenos. 
Here  too  a  melancholy  tinge  clouded  my  feelings, 
as  I  reflected,  indeed  spake  aloud  to  my  fair  com- 
panion of  marble:  we  shall  not  soon  meet  again. 
Turning  about  one  beholds  another  noble 
work,  yet  of  a  very  different  kind — the  Erech- 
theion.  But  1  must  be  off,  the  sun  is  declining; 
it  is  time  to  say  good-bye.  One  more  look  atthe 
Parthenon !  weak-hearted  wanderer,  why  dost 
thou  delay  ?  Sol  break  away  from  my  enthrall- 
ment  with  many  a  pang,  with  many  a  glance  back 
as  I  pass  out,  thinking  this  is  the  last.  So  too, 
my  friend,  I  nmst  break  loose  from  this  distracted 
letter  written  amid  farewells  to  friends,  to  ancient 
monuments.  Supply  the  missing  words,  rectify 
my  errant  fancies  and  think  with  me  Auf 
Wiedersehen. 


TRcturn  to  Belpbi. 

Delphi,  March  14th,  1879. 

Well,  here  I  am  once  more,  to  my  own  amaze- 
ment and  no  little  mystification.  Really  I  am 
somewhat  dazed  at  my  own  labyrinth  of  move- 
ments, quizzing  my  demon  about  what  he  intends 
to  do  with  me  and  whither  he  is  leading  me.  I  bad 
not  been  in  Athens  a  week  this  last  time  before 
I  besran  to  feel  an  intense  need  of  o^oinoj  back  to 
Delphi  and  the  Parnassian  region,  \A'hen  I  left 
here  three  weeks  ago,  after  quite  a  little  stay,  I 
hardly  thought  of  returning,  even  if  I  may  have 
sometimes  wished  it.  My  original  plan  was  to 
go  back  to  Athens,  say  good-bye  to  friends-, 
then  take  the  steamer  at  the  Piranis  on  my  way 
homewards.     But  1  soon  felt  an  influence  which 

U  (529) 


530  BETURN  TO  DELPHI. 

kept  growing  more  imperious,  till  my  destina- 
tion was,  when  the  boat  steamed  out  of  port,  to  get 
to  Delphi  again  by  the  straightest  route.  So  I  am 
once  more  lying  down  along  the  hearth  of  my 
good  Greek  veteran,  whose  cabin  is  in  the 
enclosure  of  Apollo's  ancient  temple.  I  am 
resolved  to  stay  till  I  work  through  my  Delphic 
mood,  throwing  it  out  of  me  into  some  kind  of 
writ,  and  thus  freeing  myself  of  that  ancient 
demon  who  has  gotten  such  a  grip  upon  my  very 
soul.  Nor  do  I  know  how  long  I  shall  stay  — 
possibly  forever.  What  do  you  say  to  that,  my 
friend?  I  confess  to  you  that  the  conception 
has  come  up  to  me  that  I  may  never  be  able  to 
extricate  myself  from  this  Delphic  world,  and  so 
never  see  you  in  St.  Louis  again,  unless  upon  a 
chance  visit  to  the  Father  of  Waters.  Still  do 
not  shed  any  tears,  at  least  not  yet,  for  I  think 
that  after  some  weeks,  by  diligent  seeing,  ram- 
bling and  scribbling,  I  shall  succeed  not  only  in 
freeing  myself  of  the  tyrannous  demon,  but  in 
actually  nabbing  him  who  now  has  nabbed  me 
with  such  violence.  Perhaps  I  can  even  cage 
him  (in  words),  and  carry  him  across  the  ocean 
to  show  him  to  you,  making  him  also  dance  a 
little  in  his  chains  for  your  delectation. 

I  come  before  myself  now  as  having  departed 
from  the  modern  world,  even  from  modern 
Greece,  and  as  having  gotten  back  into  the  11-.  - 
ing   presence  of  antiquity.     While  at  Athens  1 


A  TOUR  /A^  EUROPE.  531 

bought  the  History  of  Tricoupis,  a  much-praised 
work  whose  theme  is  the  War  for  Greek  lude- 
pendence  (1821-30).  It  did  not  take  me  long 
to  find  out  that  I  could  not  read  buch  a  book  now, 
though  its  author  was  declared  to  be  the  new 
Thucydides.  The  truth  is  Athens  had  become 
too  modern  for  me.  Then  I  am  free  here  of 
another  Athenian  discord,  which,  though  sup- 
pressed, was  quite  real.  My  chief  associates  at 
Athens  were  the  American  missionaries,  of 
whom  there  are  four  different  sets,  and  who  did 
not  fail  to  see  and  express  the  shortcomings  of 
one  another.  Bat  to  me  personally  they  all 
were  very  friendly  and  hospitable,  though  our 
aims  were  so  different.  On  the  basic  point  both 
sides  soon  found  each  other  out,  and  preserved  a 
rather  ominous  silence ;  only  once  did  one  of 
the  more  zealous  ladies  lecture  me  just  a  little 
for  my  too  great  "heatheness."  We  had  much 
pleasant  intercourse ;  still  through  it  all  ran  that 
undertone  of  dissonant  purposes.  By  the  Greek 
Christian  population  these  Missionaries  were 
shunned,  and  they  were  very  unpopular.  I 
recollect  that  when  I  first  arrived  at  Arachoba, 
and  said  that  I  was  an  American,  people  wanted 
to  know  whether  I  was  *'  one  of  those  American 
Missionaries  down  at  Athens."  I  obtained  the 
Arachobite  good-will  at  once  by  saying  that  when 
I  became  a  Missionary,  I  would  certainly  not 
come  to    Arachoba,     but  would   go   across    the 


532  RETUBN  TO  DELPHI. 

border    and   try    my    hand    on    the    barbarous 
Turks. 


Delphi,  March  14th,  1879. 

So  you  are  inclined  to  laugh  at  me,  my  dear 
little  girl,  for  going*  so  far  away  to  get  into 
Greece,  which,  you  think,  I  could  easily  have 
found  at  home.  But  the  two  words  which  sound 
so  much  alike  to  your  ear,  are  very  different  in 
meaning,  though  I  have  no  doubt  your  little  head 
and  your  little  hands  also  are  far  better 
acquainted  with  grease  than  with  Greece.  Spell 
the  two  words  now,  and  when  you  go  to  school, 
ask  your  teacher  to  tell  you  the  difference 
between  them.  Sometime  you  may  want  to 
visit  Greece  too,  I  mean  this  Greece  where  I  am^ 
not  that  which  you  know  at  home.  Possibly 
when  I  come  back  again  to  this  Greece,  you  will 
be  along. 

Delphi,  March  21st,  1879. 

Before  my  veteran's  cabin  lies  the  drum  of 
one  of  the  columns  which  colonnaded  the  old 
Delphic  temple.  It  tips  down  into  the  soil,  in 
which  one-half  of  it  lies  buried  and  makes  a 
good  seat,  though  with  edges  broken  here  and 
there,  and  with  weeds  clambering  about  its  sides. 
I  can  read  in  it  a  pleasant  Greek  salutation  from 
antique  Delphi,  though  I  have  to  ask:    What  hit 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  5uo 

you  so  hard,  and  why?  Let  these  questionings  pass 
for  the  present,  and  buikl  up  anew  the  old  temple 
which  you  can  from  the  diameter  of  this  colum- 
nar drum.  Out  of  the  one  measurement  the 
whole  structure  flows  in  all  its  members.  But 
not  simply  the  single  edifice  but  the  entire  Del- 
phic world  I  am  trying  to  reconstruct  as  I  sit  on 
its  fragment  of  stone,  which  is  an  integral  })art 
of  it,  and  which  seems  to  peep  out  at  me  from  its 
covermg  of  ages,  and  smile,  as  if  getting  ready 
to  speak.  It  has  become  for  me  a  symbol  of  the 
ancient  city,  which  can  be  seen  with  the  sympa- 
thetic eye  everywhere  taking  furtive  glances 
from  this  soil. 

My  host,  Paraskevas,  the  veteran,  has  built 
his  hut  in  the  sacred  enclosure,  about  the  center 
of  it  as  I  measure  the  matter.  I  fancy  every  night 
that  I  stretch  myself  out  to  dreams  on  the  very 
triangle  where  anciently  stood  the  famous  Del- 
phic tripod,  from  which  the  Pythia  uttered  her 
responses  under  the  influence  of  that  prophetic 
exhalation  which  has  so  troubled  antiquaries  as 
well  as  theologians.  So  the  problem  comes  up  to 
me  now:  Cannot  I,  too,  here  on  this  spot,  snuff 
a  little  of  that  divine  vapor,  and  get  sufiiciently 
intoxicated  on  it  to  throw  off  some  Delphic 
oracles  in  the  old  measures?  Let  me  confess  to 
you  secretly,  my  friend,  that  is  just  what  I  am 
doing,  and  ere  long  you  uuiy  get  some  of  those 


534  BBTURN  TO  DELPHI. 

modern  responses  uttered  in  a  spell  of  Delphic 
inebriation. 

Still  there  is  a  modern  world  here,  and  to-day 
1  was  plunged  into  it  down  from  Parnassian 
heights  in  a  way  that  made  me  shiver.  The  mis- 
tress of  my  cabin,  whom  I  may  call  my  aged 
landlady,  the  wife  of  the  veteran,  was  born  a  Mo- 
hammedan, but  was  baptized  when  a  girl,  into  the 
Greek  Christian  fold.  I  had  not  been  in  the  village 
twenty-four  hours  when  a  gossipy  fellow  at  the 
wineshop  informed  me  of  the  fact,  with  a  mali- 
cious teehee  which  I  did  not  then  understand. 
Last  evening  at  supper  I  casually  dropped  my 
information  when  there  came  an  explosion  which 
shook  the  hut,  as  if  a  spark  had  fallen  into  a  keg 
of  powder.  The  old  woman  flew  into  a  grand 
rage,  and  even  the  grizzled  veteran  showed  anger 
in  his  question  :  "Tell  me  the  man  who  has  been 
talking  about  my  wife — I'll  make  it  hot  for  him; 
he  is  worse  than  a  Turk.  She  has  been  baptized 
these  forty  years."  I  apologized  humbly,  and 
fortunately  found  an  intercessor  in  the  old 
man's  son,  but  a  step-son  to  this  his  second  wife, 
who  does  not  like  him.  She  sulked  to-day  till 
evening,  when  I  gave  her  a  few  pennies  for  some 
tapers  which  she  wished  to  light  at  church  before 
some  saint,  whose  festival  is  being  celebrated. 
This  seemed  to  reconcile  her  by  giving  her  an 
opportunity  of  showing  to  the  village  women  how 
ffood   a   Christian    she  is.       But    this     modern 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  635 

religious  hate  nearly  blew  me  up,  hence  I  shall 
try  all  the  more  to  keep  in  that  ancient  serene 
world. 

Arachoba,  March  28th,  1879- 

After  staying  two  weeks  at  Delphi  I  have  come 
over  to  Arachoba  for  a  change,  distant  only  a 
good  hour's  walk.  The  town  has  its  own  distinct 
life  in  which  I  take  a  peculiar  delight.  It  is  not 
modern,  but  ancient,  still  it  is  alive  and  throb- 
bins.  That  is  what  it  means  to  me  :  an  old  Greek 
town  truly,  yet  full  of  living  human  activity. 
Somehow  I  imagine  it  to  have  been  lifted  out  of 
antiquity,  whirled  through  twenty-five  centuries, 
and  set  down  to-day  on  Parnassus,  quite  as  it  was 
born  long  ago  amid  these  mountains.  It  would 
seem  that  the  heights  and  valleys  with  their  re- 
cesses and  caves  were  places  of  secure  refuge  for 
these  people  and  preserved  them  through  all  the 
invasions  and  revolutions  which  have  swept  over 
the  lowlands.  On  the  whole  it  is  the  most  fas- 
cinating piece  of  antitjuity  which  I  have  come 
upon  in  all  my  travels.  Could  I  have  ever  ex- 
pected to  see  my  desiccated  Greek  Lexicon  spring 
into  living  speech!  and  my  Dictionary  of  Anti- 
quities, with  its  vast  stores  of  carefully  dried, 
arranged  and  labelled  specimens  suddenly  whisk 
into  ruddy  reality  I  Soulful  indeed  it  is  to  behold 
the  labyrinthine  Itorhis  siccus  of  classical  erudi- 
tion actually  bloom  and  put  forth  fresh  flowers 
once  morel     Imagine  me,  my  friend  talking  face 


536  BBTUEN   TO  DELPHI. 

to  face  with  Homeric,  or  perchance  pre-Homeric 
Greeks,  in  their  own  dialect,  saluting  by  name 
Ulysses,  Paris  (Alexandros),  yea  Venus  herself 
(Aphrodite).  Am  I  not  getting  back  to  the 
beffiunino;?  Yet  all  this,  which  sounds  so 
dreamy,  is  here  the  mcst  natural  thing  in  the 
world,  in  fact  a  daily  prosaic  occurrence. 


Arachoba,  March  30th,  1879. 

While  at  Athens,  I  talked  a  good  deal  about 
Arachoba  and  the  Parnassian  region,  of  course 
with  a  considerable  outlay  of  gesticulated  enthu- 
siasm (as  is  my  wont,  you  know).  The  result 
is  that  some  few  people  are  straying  hitherwards. 
The  Cincinnati  boy  who  has  wandered  over  so 
much  territory  afoot  turned  up  the  otiier  day  at 
Delphi.  I  did  not  see  him  there,  but  Paraskevas 
tells  me  that  he  did  not  stay  long,  and  that  he 
had  no  papoutzi  (shoes).  He  also  claimed  to 
have  been  captured  by  brigands  on  Mount  Ithome, 
but  was  turned  loose  again  because  he  had  no 
money.  So  his  lack  of  cash  saved  his  ears  and 
nose  and  possibly  his  neck.  But  the  gi'eat  visit 
in  these  regions  has  been  that  of  the  ambassadors 
with  their  grand  reception  by  the  people,  and 
with  an  address  by  the  mayor  Pappayohonnes. 
They  came  over  from  Delphi,  and  entered  the 
town  in  a  spectacular  cavalcade.  I  got  pushed 
forward  into  the  presence  of  the  German  Embas- 


A  TOUli  IX  EUROPE.  537 

sador,  who  said  that  he  had  heard  about  me — 
which  was  probably  a  diplomatic  truth.  I 
laughed  to  myself  as  I  thought:  "Now  I  have 
more  fame  ou  Parnassus  than  I  ever  had  before 
or  shall  ever  have  again."  \_Edi(orial  Note. 
An  account  of  this  visit  of  the  Ambassadors  at 
Arachoba  is  given  in  the  Walk  in  Hellas']. 

But  just  think  of  it!  An  American  Missionary 
has  also  come  hither  on  a  trip  and  has  hunted  me 
up  in  Arachoba.  It  was  of  course  not  hard  to 
find  me,  as  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the 
town  knew  me.  He  was  not  one  of  the  Mission- 
aries located  at  Athens,  who  are  not  liked  in  the 
provinces,  but  he  belonged  to  a  place  in  Asiatic 
Turkey,  and  had  come  to  Athens  chiefly  t®  learn 
Greek,  where  I  had  made  his  acquaintance.  He 
tramped  into  Arachoba  in  a  pedestrian's  rough 
outfit,  having  come  by  steamer  to  Itea,  whence 
he  followed  my  track  to  Delphi,  where  he 
expected  to  find  me.  Paraskevas  put  him  in  the 
road  after  me,  and  now  I  have  found  for  him  a 
room  and  bed,  which  have  to  be  looked  up  in 
this  town. 

Of  course  we  took  a  lono-  walk  through  the 
Olives,  but  I  did  not  entice  him  into  the  wine- 
shop, where  these  Parnassian  Greeks  let  them- 
selves out  best,  pouring  out  their  souls  with 
recinato.  I  took  him  to  see  my  favorite  views, 
and  pointed  out  the  main  objects  in  the  land- 
scape.     Very  congenial   was  our  intercourse ;  I 


538  RETURN  TO  DELPHI. 

could  see  that  the  Missionary  situation  at  Athens 
was  as  discordant  to  him  as  to  myself,    though 
for  other  reasons.     Chiefly  we  talked  of  Greek 
things,  old  and  new,   of   customs,  costumes,  of 
Greek  men  and  women,  touching  now  and  then 
upon  America.  At  last  we  encountered  a  group  of 
maidens  picking  olives;  I  began  telling  him  what 
that  meant   to    me,    but  here  he  drew  inwards. 
"That"  says  I,  "is  a  glimpse  into  the  old  Greek 
world,  long  before  the  birth  of  Christ,   perhaps 
even    before     Homer."       He      was     somewhat 
astonished  at  the  proposition,  probably  wonder- 
ing what  he,  as  a  Missionary,    was  going  to  do 
with  an  idea  like  that  in  his  head.       But   I  went 
on  talking,  and  unfolded  the  beauty  of  this  Par- 
nassian world,  till  at  last  I  pointed    directly    at 
one  of  the  group,  exclaiming,  "There  she  is,  the 
central  figure !     That  is  Elpinike."     Ho  looked 
and  looked  again,  but  did  not  see  her,  whereat 
we  both  turned  about  and  walked  up  the  slope  to 
town  where  a  good  dinner  awaited  us.      In  the 
morning    he    started  off  on  his   journey  toward 
Lebedeia,  wondering  what  it  was  that  kept  me 
so  long  in  Arachoba.       Once  I  clapped  my  hand 
to  my  pocket  and  drew  out  my  note-book,    with 
the   design  of  reading  to  him  one  of  my  Delphic 
hymns,  which  were  singing  themselves  every  day 
over  the  Parnassian  slopes  like  music  in  the  air. 
But  my  band  was  stopped  by   the  thought  that 
the    good  man    was    used  to    a  wholly  different 


A  TOUR  IiV  EUROPE.  539 

kind  of  hymnody,  and  that  mine  might  produce 
in  him  a  discord  at  parting. 


AracJioba,  March  31st,  1879. 

What  a  wonderful  dip  backward  into  the  old 
Hellenic  fountain !  It  seems  to  me  that  I  to-day 
came  upon  traces  of  the  ancient  Greek  Mythos 
still  alive  in  the  mouths  of  the  people.  And  the 
village  bard  or  rhapsode  is  certainly  here,  not 
now  ready  to  rehearse  some  episode  of  the  Tro- 
jan War,  but  of  the  conflict  with  the  Turk.  One 
thinks  of  him  as  the  lineal  descendant  of  the 
Plomeric  Aoidos,  like  Phemius  and  Dcmodocus 
of  the  Odj'ssey.  In  the  present  case,  however, 
the  rhapsode  was  a  woman,  long  known  as  the 
chief  depository  of  legends,  fairy-tales,  ballads, 
the  primordial  literature  of  the  people. 

There  are  two  schools  in  the  town,  both  of 
great  interest  to  the  teacher.  A  third  very  small 
one  for  little  girls  I  have  visited,  which  is  taught 
by  a  woman.  I  asked  her  if  she  knew  anything 
of  the  kindergarten,  but  she  had  only  heard  of 
it.  I  often  go  to  hear  the  youths  of  Arachoba 
construe  Xenophon,  after  whose  style  modern 
Greek  seems  to  pattern  itself  as  a  literary  tongue. 
At  this  point,  however,  the  edge  is  entering. 
Modern  civilization  is  creeping  in  through  educa- 
tion, these  youngsters  will  all  be  able  to  read  the 
newspapers  from  Athens,  and  thus  will   share  in 


640  RETUBN  TO  DELPHI. 

the  movement  of  the  world  of  to-day.  Isolated 
Arachoba  will  be  whirled  into  the  stream  of  the 
ages,  and  be  assimilated  slowly  to  the  rest  of 
Europe. 

In  fact  there  is  at  Arachoba  just  now  quite  a 
little  conflict  between  the  two  sides,  the  sup- 
porters of  the  old  and  of  the  new.  Said  one  of 
the  schoolmasters  in  fez  and  fustanella:  "This 
costume  of  mine  is  vanishing;  in  twenty  years 
more  it  will  be  a  rarity.  The  great  majority  of 
people  here  still  wear  it,  as  I  do ;  but  the  other 
schoolmaster,  you  see  has  thrown  it  off.  In  like 
manner  the  rest  of  our  old  ideas  and  customs  are 
bound  to  disappear.  I  have  seen  great  changes 
in  my  own  time,  greater  still  are  coming.  I 
have  held  out  so  far,  alia  ii  na  kamo.'" 

At  these  words  he  gave  a  significant  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  as  if  he  too  were  in  the  clutches  of 
the  inevitable  Fate  which  was  hanging  over  old 
Arachoba.  Since  he  knew  of  my  intense  delight 
in  the  town  as  a  survival  of  Greek  antiquity,  he 
went  on:  "You  have  arrived  just  in  time;  ten 
years  hence  you  will  not  see  half  so  much.  You 
would  have  seen  a  good  deal  more  ten  years  ago." 

Such  was  the  gloomy  vaticination  of  my  fel- 
low-craftsman at  Arachoba,  foreboding  that  his 
world  would  soon  pass  away,  being  already 
caught  in  the  grip  of  Destiny.  Do  you  know 
what  he  recalled  to  me  vividly?  The  old 
Greek    Fate,    which    was    always  hovering  over 


A  TOUE  IN  EUEORE.  541 

Hellas  Jind  the  Ilelleuic  man  from  Homer  clown, 
and  which  finds  such  a  tremendous  expression  in 
Athenian  Tragedy.  And  what  else  indeed  is 
that  Laocoon  which  I  pondered  over  so  often  at 
Rome  in  the  Vatican  Gallery,  where  it  stands  as 
the  most  overwhelming  utterance  of  Greek 
antiquity  concerning  itself — and  that  too  in  its 
own  supreme  art,  namely  sculpture?  Little  did 
I  then  exi)ect  to  find  that  statue  in  a  manner 
re-incarnated  and  still  alive. 

This  was  truly  a  new  experience  ©f  the  ancient 
life  here  represented.  So  Arachoba  deems 
itself  doomed,  yet  it  goes- its  way  with  serenity, 
yea  with  joy  and  many  a  happy  festival.  A  little 
green  island  I  image  it,  lodged  on  the  slope  of 
Parnassus,  saved  from  the  wreck  of  a  world. 
And  with  it  has  strangely  survived  that  antique 
idea  of  Fate,  imbedded  so  deep  in  the  old  Greek 
consciousness,  which  really  therein  saw  and 
foretold  itself.  History  has  recorded  the  grand 
cataclysm  of  the  Hellenic  world,  but  here  comes 
a  little  piece  of  JloLsam  from  the  colossal  nau- 
frage,  this  Arachoba,  upon  which  you  must 
picture  me  to  have  leaped,  and  to  be  now  seek- 
ing to  live  its  life,  very  old  yet  also  very  young. 


542  BETUBN  TO  DELPHI. 


Delphi,  April  4th,  1879. 

Back  again  to  Delphi  in  the  hut  of  good  old 
Paraskevas,  the  veteran.  I  fell  into  a  longing  for 
this  spot  yesterday,  since  it  gives  something 
which  Arachoba  cannot  furnish.  Here  is  the 
actual  wreck  of  antiquity  broken  to  ruins  and 
humbled  into  the  dust  of  the  earth ;  still  its 
spirit  glances  forth  ^everywhere  from  its  frag- 
ments. The  blow  of  Fate  which  smote  that 
antique  life  is  seen  and  even  felt  still  in  this 
place ;  the  tragedy  of  old  Hellas  is  impressively 
present,  and  can  be  read  when  you  learn  the 
hand-writing.  And  that  is  the  ever-recurring 
interest,  the  interest  of  the  tragic. 

Delphi  and  Arachoba  have  become  two  worlds 
for  me,  or  rather  two  stages  of  the  Hellenic 
world.  I  can  pass  from  one  to  the  other  in  an 
hour's  walk.  Both  must  be  appropriated  and 
uttered.  You  know  that  Homer  has  two  worlds, 
an  upper,  Olympian,  of  the  Gods,  and  a  lower 
terrestrial,  of  men.     And  so  it  is  here. 

The  people  of  Castri  (the  modern  name  for 
Delphi)  are  an  humble  peasantry,  who  live  in  a 
faint  wonder  about  their  town  and  its  ruins.  It 
is  the  antique  shell  into  which  I  try  to  put  the 
life  of  Arachoba.  The  two  thus  belong  together, 
at  least  I  think  so.  So  I  often  pass  and  repass 
between  them,  as  each  furnishes  its  own  different 
material  for  the  structure  I  am  building.     Eeally 


A  TOUR  LV  EUROPE.  543 

the  Araclioba  of  to-day  is  pre-Delphic,  it  shows 
the  bud  out  of  which  Del])hi  flowered  in  the 
olden  time  and  with  it  civilized  Greece.  Can  I 
again  make  these  ruins  spring  out  of  their  origi- 
nal living  germ?  This  is  my  problem,  which 
keeps  me  so  long  in  these  Parnassian  regions ;  I 
have  come  to  believe  it  to  be  the  stake  of  my 
whole  European  journey,  which  I  have  just  now 
reached  and  am  grasping  for,  though  I  had  no 
such  concious  end  at  the  beginning. 


Delphi,  April  4th,  1879. 

While  I  was  at  Kome,  Davidson  gave  me  a 
minute  account  of  his  trip  in  Greece,  starting 
from  Athens,  going  around  the  Peloponnesus,  to 
the  excavations  at  Olympia  (which  I  must  yet 
see),  and  returning  through  Northern  Greece. 
His  company  was  a  large  one — ten  or  a  dozen,  if 
I  recollect  aright — having  their  own  guides, 
donkeys,  and  utensils,  and  cooking  their  own  pro- 
visions mainly.  Such  a  company  would  see 
places  and  people  on  the  outside,  and  have 
experiences  of  their  own,  if  that  were  the 
object  of  the  trip.  I  was  much  interested  in 
Davidson's  account,  as  I  thought  already  at 
Eome  that  I  might  wish  to  do  something  of  the 
same  sort.  The  incident  which  im})ressed 
Davidson  was  a  Greek  mother  who  took  off  her 
shoe  and  poured  some  goat's  milk  into  it,   which 


544  BE  TURN  TO  DELPHI. 


she  gave  to  her  child  to  drink.  I,  eating  and 
sleeping  in  the  huts  of  the  common  people,  have 
seen  no  s;uch  thing,  though  that  does  not  invali- 
date it.  I  heard  Davidson  repeat  the  incident 
three  or  four  times  at  least,  while  at  Rome  with 
him.  Indeed  he  showed  something  of  a  reaction 
against  the  Greek  world  through  his  stay  in 
Greece,  which  must  have  disillusioned  him.  In 
St,  Louis,  you  know,  he  was  fond  of  calling  him- 
self a  Greek  Heathen  with  a  kind  of  badinage, 
I  always  thought.  To  be  sure,  his  reaction 
against  the  Germans  was  far  more  emphatic  and 
bitter.  Then  his  catholicizing  tendency  may 
have  quite  neutralized  his  former  "heathenesse." 
All  this  has  been  brought  up  to  me  because 
Paraskevas  tells  me  that  he  recollects  very  well 
the  company,  and  that  it  found  less  than  a  day 
sufficient  for  Delphi.  The  next  time  I  see 
Davidson  I  shall  say  to  him  if  the  subject  comes 
up :  "You  never  really  saw  Greece  in  that  donkey 
cavalcade  of  yours — how  could  you?  Greece  is 
its  people,  and  they  would  hold  aloof  from  you 
all  the  journey.  The  only  way  is  afoot  and 
alone  {monos  kai  pezos)  ;  then  the  people  will 
come  out  of  their  shell  and  associate  with  you,  so 
that  you  can  find  them  out.  You  never  saw  the 
old  Greek  world  in  the  modern,  when  you  rode 
on  your  donkey  through  Delphi  and  Arachoba — 
it  cannot  be  seen  in  that  fashion,  though  it  be 
present  and  also  alive.  Nor  could  you  see  it  even 


A  TOUR  ly  EUROPE.  646 

in  your  year's  stay  at  Athens,  for  there  it  is  not 
present,  at  least  not  in  its  original  life." 
[Editorial  Note.  Many  years  afterward  I  saw 
a  good  deal  of  Davidson  at  Chicago  during  the 
Literary  Schools,  but  this  Greek  subject  did  not 
rise  to  the  surface,  as  other  matters  were  upper- 
most in  the  minds  of  both  of  us.  Once  I  pointed 
out  to  him  on  the  street  there  a  Greek  fruit- 
vender,  whom  I  knew,  and  whom  he  addressed 
in  the  native  tongue.  His  milk  story,  however, 
I  heard  from  him  again  in  a  company]. 

Delphi,  April  5th,  1879. 

I  have  been  here  so  long  that  I  often  think 
back  upon  my  trip,  wondering  what  it  all  means 
to  me  both  as  present  and  as  future.  But  to  one 
conclusion  I  have  come,  which  you  may  deem 
fantastic :  This  Parnassian  world  in  which  I  am 
now  abiding,  is  what  lies  back  of  all  the  Art  I 
saw  at  Rome.  This  is  the  original  reality  out  of 
which  that  evolved.  Of  course  this  is  but  a 
small  fraijment  of  the  total  Hellenic  world  from 
which  poetic  and  artistic  Eome  sprang,  as  we  see 
it  to-day.  So  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have  fol- 
lowed the  stream  to  its  fountain-head  at  which  I 
am  now  daily  sipping  in  solitary  ecstasy. 

Moreover  I  have  been  attempting  to  give  ex- 
pression to  what  I  tind  here,  quite  as  I  did  at 
Rome  and  on   the  way  hither  from  Rome.     But 

35 


546  BE  TUB N  TO  DELPHI. 

the  background  is  very  different ;  there  is  no  art 
here,  no  developed  feeling  for  it,  all  is  still  a 
possibility.  The  character  of  the  country  and 
of  the  people  is  what  may  be  called  idyllic ;  still 
these  utterances  of  mine  are  not  strictly  idyls  of 
the  cast  of  Theocritus  and  Virgil,  both  of  whom 
fled  back  to  a  simple  pastoral  life  out  of  their 
respective  civilizations,  Greek  and  Roman, 
from  which  they  were  in  a  manner  estranged. 
Shakespeare  has  repeatedly  made  such  a  flight  to 
an  idyllic  life  the  subject  of  a  comedy  (see  for 
instance  As  you  like  it).  My  mood,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  not  that  of  flight  from,  but  of  advance 
to;  I  seem  returning,  not  leaving. 

So  these  new  productions  I  have  concluded  to 
call  Hymns,  whose  setting  is  ancient  Delphi, 
peculiarly  the  abode  of  the  God,  the  ancient 
theme  of  many  Hymns,  and  also  the  home  of  the 
Muses,  inspirers  of  all  song.  Moreover  these 
Hymns  move  still  to  the  elegiac  measure,  which 
for  me  at  least,  has  become  native  to  all  this  classic 
world  reproducing  itself  in  English.  To  be  sure 
it  takes  a  different  color  in  a  different  environ- 
ment and  with  a  different  subject-matter,  which 
is  here  the  immediate  poetic  life  out  of  which 
Hellas  arose  milleniums  agone. 

At  Delphi  I  can  not  help  thinking  that  Nature 
took  a  primordial  part  in  shaping  the  inner 
Hellenic  world  of  old.  She  is  to-day  what  she 
was  when  the  hoary  Pelasgians  first    debouched 


1 


A   TOUR  m  EUROPE.  547 

into  this  valley  on  their  long  Aryan  migration. 
By  repeated  contemplation  one  gets  to  making 
here  Natnra  a  kind  of  person  or  Goddess 
endowed  with  life  and  a  peculiar  individuality. 
Now  it  is  Spring  over  the  Delphic  slopes,  and 
Nature  appears  before  me  as  a  fair  Greek  maiden 
dressing  herself  for  her  marriage.  Of  course 
no  mortal  man  in  such  a  case  can  keep  his  eyes 
off,  l)ut  will  modestly  peep  at  her  ways  of  dis- 
porting herself  at  her  Parnassian  toilet : 

Over  her  body  she  draws  in  her  triumph  a  flowing 
green  garment; 
Emeralds  under  her  touch  burst  from  each  bud 
on  the  bough  ; 
Garlands    of    blossoms    she    winds    round    her 
bosom,  velvety,  vermeil. 
Here    they    are  white    with    her   hand,    there 
they  are  blue  with  her  eye. 
Hal   the  bright  face  of  the  bridegroom  peering 
just  over  the  mountain  I 
'Tis  the  new  Sun  from  the  skies,  flinging  his 
gold  on  her  path. 
Now  her  song  she  begins,  her  sweet  passion  trills 
over  the  olives, 
With  her  each  bird  on  the  twig  chants  its  own 
bridal  refrain, 
And  the  Parnassian  pilgrim,  tuned  to  the  beams 
of  the  Sungod, 
Chants  responsive  a  hymn  rocked  to  the  roll 
of  the  heights. 


548  BETURN  TO  DELPHI. 


Delphi,  April  6th,  1879. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  name  of  Lord 
Byron  is  more  familiar  to  the  Greek  people  than 
that  of  any  other  European.  Not  that  they 
know  his  poetry,  or  that  he  was  a  poet;  to  them 
he  is  a  kind  of  hero  who  descended  into  their 
world  from  above  to  fight  for  their  freedom. 
That  deed  has  made  him  more  famous  than  his 
verse,  which,  however,  is  still  very  interesting  to 
one  who  visits  Greece  at  present.  He  passed 
through  this  Parnassian  region,  and  in  the  first 
stanza  of  Childe  Harold  he  declares,  in  speaking 
of  the  Muse : 

"Yet  there  I've  wandered  by  thy  vaunted  rill, 

Yes !  sighed  o'er  Delphi's  long  deserted  shrine. 
Where,  save  that  feeble  fountain,  all  is  still." 

I  can  say,  not  still  to  me,  but  endowed  with  a 
voice  and  even  happy.  The  conflict  between  the 
Turk  and  the  Greek  took  strong  hold  of  Byron 
who  reproduced  it  poetically  in  various  ways, 
and  finally  lost  his  life  in  that  same  struggle  of 
races  and  religions.  My  old  veteran  (if  I  under- 
stand him)  thinks  that  he  as  a  youth  saw  Byron, 
who  died  fifty-five  years  ago  at  Missolonghi.  At 
Athens  there  were  many  legends  about  him,  par- 
ticularly about  his  loves.  In  his  way  he  was 
enthusiastic  for  the  old  Greeks;  but  he  never 
seems  to  have  gotten  a  glimpse  of  classic  form ; 


A  TOUR  I.V  EUROPE.  549 

certainly  he  did  not  try  to  reproduce  it,  hut 
thrusts  everything  Gi't'ek  into  his  fore-orduined 
Anglo-Saxon  poetic  mould.  So  I  feel  here  at 
Delphi,  recalliiig  dimly  his  works  and  their  im- 
pression upon  me  a  good  while  ago.  Still  of  all 
the  Philhollenes  he  is  the  greatest  person- 
age, according  to  the  Greeks  themselves. 
A  good  subject  for  future  study  would  be 
Bj'-ron's  Hellenism,  its  worth  and  its  limits;  I 
can  not  help  contrasting  it  with  that  of  Goethe, 
though  the  latter  never  got  to  Greece,  but  only 
as  far  as  Greek  Sicily.  I  have  often  wondered 
what  our  friend  Brockmeyer  would  do  with  this 
Delphic  world,  if  he  were  here.  Would  he  make 
it  over  with  that  unique  creative  power  of  his, 
and  put  it  into  shape?  Or  would  his  work  in 
this  case  too  remain  a  huge  torso,  unfinished  and 
unfinishable?  No  person  whom  I  have  ever  met 
has  shown  such  a  keen  appreciation  of  Greek 
Art;  "it  is  the  only  Art  aa  yet,"  I  heard  him 
once  say,  after  a  magnificent  exposition  of 
Antigone.  "What  a  keen  sense  of  Greek  form" 
I  thought — and  still  he  never  forms.  I  know  at 
least  a  di^zen  pieces  which  he  has  begun — poems, 
romances,  dramas,  apologues,  adventures  in  a 
Rabelaisian  vein  of  humor — but  they  all  break 
off  somewhere  before  the  middle,  remaining 
Titanic  fragments.  Of  course  in  his  present 
political  oftice  he  may  not  be  able  to  do  much 
literary  labor ;  l)ut  I  watched  the  ten  years  pre- 


550  RETURN  TO  DELPHI. 

vious  to  his  election  and  often  urged  him  to 
complete  something,  such  as  Reynard  in 
America,  or  Hans  Grotsnoot,  or  his  philosophi- 
cal treatise  on  the  American  Constitution,  of 
whose  spirit  he  knew  more  than  Story  or  any 
other  writer  within  my  knowledge.  I  have  some 
right  to  say  this,  since  I,  as  teacher  of  the  Con- 
stitution in  the  High  School,  read  quite  a  little 
speck  of  the  literature  of  this  subject.  Now  I 
am  going  to  impart  to  you,  as  the  friend  of  both 
of  us,  my  Delphic  impression  :  Brockmeyer,  who 
has  exerted  such  a  mighty  influence  upon  the 
deepest  currents  of  my  existence,  is  a  genius, 
but  unrealized  and  probably  unrealizable,  he  can 
not  give  to  himself  a  form — even  that  form 
which  he  appreciates  so  highly. 

I  have  also  reveried  over  what  Goethe  would 
have  been  inspired  to  write,  were  he  here 
in  my  place.  It  is  my  judgment  that  he  is  the 
greatest  reproducer  of  the  antique  that  ever 
lived,  greater  than  the  old  Roman  poets.  Cer- 
tainly his  elegiacs  have  more  poetic  life  than 
any  Latin  ones  I  have  come  across  in  Ovid,  Prop- 
pertius  and  Tibullus.  It  keeps  buzzing  through 
my  head  that  he  would  have  created  his  chief 
classic  masterpiece  in  a  drama  on  Ipliigenia  at 
DeJpld.  Perhaps,  however,  this  Arachobite  life 
would  have  impelled  to  produce  a  throbbing 
idyllic  epos  after  the  kind  of  Hermann  and 
Dorolhea,    but    with  a    Greek,    not  a    German 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  551 

setting  and  content.  It  is  a  surprise  to  me  that 
he  could  be  satisfied  with  Rome  and  Sicily,  mere 
echoes  of  the  oriu^inal  Hellenic  world.  Why  did 
he  not  make  a  push  for  Greece?  Certainly  such 
a  trip  was  possible  in  his  time.  Some  limit  in- 
side of  him  must  have  kept  him  back,  the  nature 
of  which  I  have  not  yet  made  out. 

Still  Goethe  is  the  genius  who  forms,  and 
cannot  help  himself,  whatever  be  his  material — 
Teutonic,  Classic,  Persian,  or  even  Chinese.  And 
as  to  the  great  admirer  and  English  interpreter 
of  Goethe,  Thomas  Carlyle — I  have  interrogated 
the  Oracle  here  about  what  his  genius  would 
make  out  of  this  Delphic  world,  Goth  that  he  is. 
I  can  hear  only  the  response :  he  would  knock  it 
to  pieces  in  writ,  doing  over  again  what  the 
original  Goths  and  Vandals  did  really  to  the 
Classic  world.  It  is  true  that  he  once  reviewed 
Goethe's  Helena  appreciatively,  but  he  never 
struck  into  that  path  afterwards;  he  never,  like 
Faust  and  like  Goethe  himself  wooed  Helen,  the 
elusive  Greek  beauty.  He  remained  a  Northern 
barbarian  to  the  last,  and  even  improved  on  his 
barbarism.  Certainly  he  would  not  be  the  archi- 
tect chosen  to  rebuild  the  ruined  Delphic  temple. 


552  BETUBN  TO  DELPHI. 

Arachoba,  April  8 tit,  1879. 

I  have  a^ain  come  over  to  Arachoba,  that 
Greek  infant  3,000  years  old,  but  lively  still  and 
kickino-.  Not  simplv  ancient  civilized  Greece,  but 
the  yet  older  Greece  lying  back  of  it  I  live  in 
afresh,  having  walked  out  of  the  Delphic  tomb, 
which,  nevertheless,  is  later  or  younger.  What 
a  time-upsetting  world  is  here,  if  one  not  only 
incorporates  it,  but  actually  insouls  it!  This 
Parnassian  life  reverses  the  ages ;  the  oldest  folk 
still  lives  infantile,  while  the  progeny  is  long 
since  dead  and  its  sepulcher  is  in  ruins.  Aged 
Time,  having  traveled  downward  for  aeons  in 
succession,  picks  me  up  just  here  and  whirls  me 
backward  in  a  sort  of  recession,  bearing  me  sud- 
denly round  to  his  Hellenic  beginnings.  On  this 
spot  the  reality  is  so  ghostly  and  the  ghosts  are 
so  real  that  you  have  to  get  used  to  a  new  kind 
of  universe,  and  even  set  it  to  music,  for  it  cer- 
tainly has  its  own  song. 

For  the  third  and  probably  last  time  I  went 
and  stayed  nearly  a  day  in  the  Corycian  Cave, 
which  has  had  a  great  name  in  this  region  from 
antiquity  till  the  present.  In  the  old  legend  it  was 
deemed  sacred  to  Pan  and  had  its  special  Nymphs 
called  Corycian.  It  is  full  of  the  strangest 
stalactite  forms,  which  in  a  remarkable  way  sug- 
gest sculpture.  There  was  a  multitude  of  masks 
leering  out  at  me  everywhere  from  the  walls  and 


A  TOUB  IN  EUROPE.  553 

ceilinf^s.  Miiny  statuesque  shapes  would  just 
outline  themselves  and  then  seem  to  dart  back 
into  the  limestone.  They  would  overflow  one  an- 
other, and  make  groups  in  a  kind  of  relief.  A 
mother  and  child  (one  would  say)  were  given  in 
a  striking  attitude;  certainly  I  thought  of  Niobe 
and  the  Madonna.  Here  I  would  fain  see 
Nature  as  the  original  sculptor,  and  my  delight 
was  to  tiud  in  this  Cave  the  original  art  gallery, 
which  met  me  at  Rome,  Paris,  London,  in  fact 
along  the  whole  course  of  my  journey.  My 
fancy  capers  with  joy  at  seeing  this  lovely  Par- 
nassian Mountain  pregnant  with  such  a  happy  line 
of  beautiful  progeny  streaming  down  through 
Europe  till  America.  And  not  only  Sculpture  but 
Architecture  is  strongly  suggested,  especially  the 
column  which  drops  from  the  ceiling  to  the 
ground.  Again  the  embryo  of  the  Greek  world 
in  one  of  its  most  notable  phases  I  seem  to  tind 
here ;  Nature  shows  the  Greek  artist  in  what  way 
and  in  what  material  he  is  to  make  his  sculp- 
turesque forms,  which  will  even  rival  the  Gods 
coming  down  from  Olympus. 

The  Corycian  Cave  has  also  been  the  source  of 
much  mythologizing.  Still  to-day  it  has  its  elves 
and  sprites,  which  I  hear  strangely  called 
Nereids  at  Arachoba.  As  I  sit  down  in  the  Cave 
I  try  to  recreate  its  divine  population  of  little 
deities,  and  feel  their  iniluence.  I  creep  through 
its  secret  chambers  large  and  small,  and  light  my 


554  EETURV  TO  DELPHI. 

taper  to  see  the  ever-chanojing  shapes.     Once  I 
have  to  lie  down  flat  and  squeeze  through  a  hole 
which  fits  my  back  very  closely.     Then  I  ascend 
to  a  room  in  the   second  story  and  strike  a  light. 
In  it  I  saw  the  God  Pan  and  also  felt  him.     For 
there  came  over  me  a  kind  of  panic,    I  thought 
for  a    moment  that   I  must  retreat.     Quite  ex- 
hausted I  sank  down  on  a  rock  and  found  at  my 
feet  a    drink  of  water:  the  stone  had  been  hol- 
lowed   out    into   a   little    cup  which  caught  and 
gathered  the  droplets  trickling  down  from  above. 
The  first  time  I  visited  the  Corycian  Cave  I 
had    Dimitri    as    guide,  with    whom    I    became 
acquainted  at  Delphi,  and  whom  I  often  met  as' 
I   sauntered    over    the   hills.     More    than    any 
other  human  being  he  has  become  to  me  the  in- 
carnation of  the  Faun,  also  an  old  Greek    con- 
ception lying  back  of  civilized  Greece.     It   has 
won  great  fame  through  a  statue  by  Praxiteles, 
of  which  there  are  several  copies  in  existence. 
In  fact  there  was  in  the  Cave,  a  stalactite    form 
which    seemed    to    have    some    resemblance    to 
Dimitri    himself.      \_Editorial    Note.      See    for 
further  details  the    chapter  called  the    Delphic 
Faun  in  the  Walk  in  Hellas']. 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  555 


Arachoba,  April  14th,  1870. 

A  peculiar  sensation  has  come  over  me  to-day: 
it  is  that  I  have  reached  the  summit.  My  whole 
trip  seems  to  have  flowered  out  to  a  finish  this 
afternoon,  yea  this  hour,  which  is  verily  the 
most  beautiful  hour  of  this  beautiful  spring 
in  this  beautiful  world.  I  once  heard  Brock- 
meyer  say  that  a  young  maiden  has  her  most 
perfect  day,  aye  her  most  perfect  minute,  and 
that  he  could  detect  it.  I  doubt  if  I  could,  but 
I  have  felt  some  such  premonition  in  my  own  ex- 
perience to-day,  rambling  and  gazing  over  the 
roll  of  the  Parnassian  tops,  as  they  vanish  into 
the  distant  haze.  But  after  the  culmination 
comes  the  decline,  and  this  feeling  also  stealthily 
creeps  along  underneath  the  supreme  efflores- 
cence of  my  Delphic  mood.  And  now  I  am 
going  to  send  a  little  elegiac  outburst,  which 
seeks  to  describe  this  day  of  days,  or  rather  this 
moment  of  moments  which  I  call  my  Delphic 
Moment. 

All  the  year  has  suddenly  bloomed  in  this  day, 
in  this  minute; 
The  whole  world  is  a  flov^er  fragrantly  blowing 
just  now. 
Every  rise  of  the  Sun  hath  seemed  in  some  joy 
to  look  forward. 
This  is  the  moment  it  sawfar  in  theglow  of  its 
eye. 


556  BETURN'  TO  DELPHI. 

All  the  days  of  the  year  have  been  climbing  above 
to  this  summit, 
Now  each  tick  of   the  clock  sadly  must  knell 
their  decline. 
But  thy  journey  of  life  has  now  reached  its  most 
beautiful  moment, 
Hold  it  fast  in  thy  heart^that  is  thy  conquest 
of  Time. 

Delphi,  April  15th,  1879. 

Once  more  with  my  Delphic  veteran  in  his 
hut.  I  have  come  to  like  old  Paraskevas,  par- 
tially perchance  out  of  comradeship,  for  you 
know  I  am  a  veteran  too,  and  have  my  budget  of 
soldier's  experiences.  The  old  fellow's  son  was 
recently  caught  by  the  conscription  and  the 
father  was  wrought  up  a  good  deal  over  the 
matter,  though  there  is  no  war  at  present  or  in 
sight.  I  begin  to  feel  the  regret  of  parting  from 
him  and  from  Delphi ;  his  hearty  invitation  at 
meals  ym^e  (eat)  I  shall  miss,  but  get  over. 
To-day  the  feeling  of  near  separation  over- 
shadows me,lseem  to  be  looking  at  familiar  scenes 
for  the  last  time,  the  olives  are  nodding  good-by 
to  me,  and  Castalia  gurgles  a  low  farewell. 

Keally  I  have  now  plucked  the  topmost  fruit 
of  my  European  journey,  though  I  thought  so 
before,  particularly  after  my  two  stays  at 
Athens.  But  my  two  stays  here  in  this  Par- 
nassian region,  especially  the  last  one,  have 
given  mo  wliat  I  now  know  I  camo  to  Europe 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  567 

for,    even  if   I    was  totally  unconscious  of  any 
such  object  at  the  start.       This  modern  island  of 
old  Hellenism  I  have  pretty  well  exi)lored,  having 
gone  over    it    and   around    it   and    through  it  a 
number  of  times ;  especially  I  have  resided  at  its 
two  central  points,  Delphi  and  Arachoba,  or  the 
ancient   in    the  modern  and  the  modern  in  the 
ancient.     I  thought  at  first  a  week  might  suffice, 
but  at  the  end  of  it  another  week  was  exacted, 
even  at  the  end  of  the  third  week  there  was    an 
inner  coercive  voice  saying,  not  yet,  not  yet.    So 
it  came    about   that   the  demon  imprisoned  me 
here  the  fourth  and  the  fifth  week,  giving    me, 
however,  bounteous  entertainment  all  the  while. 
But  for  a  day  or  two  I  have  felt  him  relaxing  his 
grasp,  and  this  evening  he   said.  Depart  on   the 
morrow.     Thus   I   deem    to-night    my    Delphic 
apprenticeship    done,   after   a    service    which    I 
imagine  I  shall  not  soon  forget. 
The  last  evening  it  was  that  I  saw  Elpinike  at 

Delphi, 
Softly   her  words   in  mine  ear  throbbed   the 

low  strain  of  a  hymn. 
After  I  had  come  home  and  lain   down  on  my 

rugs  at  the  hearthstone. 
There  I  lay    down    by  myself  filled   with   her 

musical  speech. 
Always  my    thoughts  were  lingering    over    her 

tones  and  her  glances, 
Till  by  decrrees  I  had  strayed  into    the  realm 

of  the  dream. 


558  RETURN  TO  DELPHI. 

[Editorial  Note.  What  this  last  Delphic 
dream  was,  being  too  long  for  quotation  here, 
can  be  seen  in  Delphic  Days,  where  it  is  printed 
as  the  last  poem  of  the  book,  under  the  title  of 
The  Outlook]. 

[As  the  stay  in  the  Parnassian  region  has  had 
some  literary  results  in  the  author's  life,  it  may 
be  permitted  at  this  point  to  mention  them  to 
those  interested.  Nearly  thirty  years  have 
passed  since  then ;  some  of  the  old  friends  may 
wish  to  have  their  memory  refreshed,  and  some 
of  the  new  friends  may  wish  to  know  a  little 
about  these  matters. 

1.  The  first  and  most  immediate  fruit  of  the 
Parnassian  abode,  and  of  the  trip  to  Greece  and  in. 
deed  of  the  whole  European  journey,  was  the  book 
called  Delphic  Days,  printed  at  St.  Louis  in  the 
spring  of  1880  (second  edition  with  a  good  many 
needed  corrections  in  1891).  It  is  made  up  of 
eighty-f our  poems  in  the  elegiac  measure,  which 
are  named  Hymns  (as  before  stated).  This  is 
the  part  of  my  journey  which  insisted  on  expres- 
sion first,  and  got  itself  fairly  completed  before 
anything  else.  It  was  almost  done  when  I 
reached  home.  Still  many  a  fragment  had  to  be 
left  behind,  refusing  to  be  finished,  or  contented 
to  stay  down  in  the  realm  of  prose.  For  instance, 
a  poem  on  the  Delphic  Oracle  was  repeatedly 
schemed,  but  it  would  dance  off  into  something 
else,  or  break   loose  from  the  measured  gait  of 


A  TOLm  IS  EUROPE.  559 

the  Hymn.  Here  is  a  shred  never  before 
printed,  which  I  have  come  upon  while  rum- 
maging through  my  old  papers: 

Oracle,  show  me,  grave  prophet,  the  source  of 
thy  Delphian  vi.sion ; 
Let  me  but  look  on  thy  face  beaming  full  into 
thy  face ; 
Bend  thy  oracular  countenance    back   to    itself 
as  a  mirror, 
I  would  see  thine  own  glance  doubly  beholding 
itself.— 
Asker,  thy  question  is  mine,  I  now  voyage  my 
world  to  discover, 
I   have,    like   thee,  O  man,   never  yet  found 
out  myself. 

With  this  response  of  the  Oracle,  the  conclu- 
sion was  reached  and  the  poem  would  not  move 
farther,  having  wound  itself  up  into  something 
like  an  Epigram  rather  than  a  Hymn,  which 
latter  was  the  poetic  form  of  the  book. 

2.  A  product  of  this  same  trip  to  the  Par- 
nassian regions  is  The  Walk  in  Hellas,  which 
sives  an  account  of  the  traveler  afoot  and  alone 
as  he  journeys  from  Athens  to  Delphi.  It  was 
written  out  from  notes  for  friends  who  wished 
to  hear  of  the  author's  experiences.  First  part 
printed  at  St.  Louis  in  1881,  second  part  in 
1882;  the  whole  reprinted  in  1892.  This  book 
is  in  several  respects  the  counterpart  in  prose  of 
Delphic  Days.     The  two  worlds  of  Parnassus, 


560  EETVBN  TO  DELPHI. 

represented  by  Delphi  and  Arachoba,  and  so 
strongly  impressed  upon  the  author,  found 
utterance  in  two  books,  without  any  such  thing 
being  intended  or  thought  of  till  accomplished. 
It  may  also  be  added  that  both  move  to  same 
Parnassian  region,  but  from  opposite  directions. 
3.  Slower  in  coming  to  maturity  was  The 
Epigrammatic  Voyage  which  is  the  collec- 
tion of  the  Epigrams  which  kept  bubbling 
up  along  my  path  when  I  once  struck  into 
the  classical  world  at  Rome,  and  thence  on  the 
way  from  Eome  to  Athens,  and  also  while  at 
Athens,  (see  preceding  pp.  166,  169,  186-7, 
248-50,  310,  362,  403,  414,  425,  431,  434, 
485,  487).  Thus  they  continued  streaming 
through  ray  whole  journey  from  Italy  to  Delphi, 
where  they  stopped  for  a  time  in  the  presence  of 
a  stronger  bent.  Still  at  home  they  would 
occasionally  rise  to  the  surface  and  have  a  little 
carnival,  especially  when  I  read  them  to  a  small 
circle  of  appreciative  friends,  who  would  talk 
back  at  them.  Here  is  one  never  printed  which 
I  have  just  dug  out  of  its  hiding-place  of  a  score 
of  years;  it  is  American-born  evidently,  and 
sprang  up  from  some  occasion  not  now  re- 
membered : 

Reading  these  epigrams  starts  between   me  and 
thee  a  keen  ball-play. 
Listener,  thou  must  take  part,  else  the  whole 
game  will  be  nought; 


A   TOUR  IN  EUROrE.  561 

Do  not  simply  look  on,  but  hold  up  thy  hund 
like  a  catcher, 
Fliujj  back  at  mo  the  ball,  then  I  another  shall 
send. 

The  ci)igrammic  mood  ceased,  or  rather  began 
lo  be  tiausformed  into  something  different  in 
1886,  when  the  book  was  printed  as  a  sort  of 
farewell  to  a  departing  phase  of  one's  life. 
About  200  have  found  a  place  in  the  collection, 
thouirh  many  a  little  shred  had  to  be  sheared  off 
and  many  a  little  motive  left  unfinished. 

4.  Another  direct  fruit  of  the  European 
journey  was  Prormis  Iletrorsus,  the  product  of 
my  three  stays  at  Rome,  lasting  all  together 
more  than  five  months.  These,  for  want  of  a 
better  word,  I  have  called  by  the  traditional 
name  of  Elegies,  which  have  that  city  and 
specially  its  ancient  art-life  as  the  background. 
Thus  they  are  quite  distinct  from  the  Epigrams 
and  the  Hymns,  though  in  the  same  measure. 
But  they  were  thelast  to  get  finished,  some  of  them 
staying  by  me  in  an  incomplete  state  till  1892, 
wheu  they  were  banished  out  of  me  into  a 
printed  book,  and  thus  gotten  rid  of,  not  hav- 
ing troubled  me  since.  Still  they  were  a  long, 
long  delight,  bringing  before  me  living  persons, 
scenes,  and  experiences  set  in  a  Roman  frame- 
work of  nuiltitudos  of  statues  peopling  for  me 
that  old  world. 

36 


5(i2  RETURN  TO  DELPHI. 

5.  I  have  already  sufficiently  indicated  that  in 
this  trip  through  Greece,  the  conception  of 
Agamemnon  s  Daughter  rose  upon  my  mind,  at 
first  in  the  form  of  a  dramatic  Tetralogy,  which 
afterwards  changed  into  a  romantic  poem,  when 
the  intensity  of  the  classic  mood  had  subsided. 
About  my  personal  relation  to  this  book  I  have 
spoken  elsewhere.  Printed  first  in  1885;  re- 
printed with  an  appendix  in  1892. 

6.  The  present  work,  which  embraces  the 
whole  ground  traveled  over,  is  now  to  be  added 
to  the  above  as  one  of  the  direct  results  of  the 
journey.  As  to  the  indirect  results  they  show 
themselves  in  the  author's  various  writings  on 
Homer,  on  Greek  Philosophy,  on  Architecture, 
etc.  But  the  foregoing  six  books  all  belong 
properly  to  what  may  be  deemed  a  classical 
itinerary]. 


i 


Ibomewart). 

Pairas,  April  18th,  1879. 

When  I  sprang  on  board  of  the  little  Greek 
steamer  at  Itea  (the  landing  place  for  Dcli)hi 
and  Arachoba  on  the  Corinthian  Gulf)  and  the 
vessel  faced  about  to  the  West,  I  felt  that  my 
journey  homeward  had  actually  begun  at  last. 
I  knew  that  I  had  gotten  the  boon  which  I  came 
for,  as  far  as  I  could  get  it,  and  which  for  many 
months  had  lured  or  rather  driven  me  on  to  the 
end.  What  that  boon  is,  I  should  find  it  very 
hard  to  describe  now;  I  imagine  that  I  shall 
si)end  years  in  trying  to  describe  it  and  to  im- 
part it,  and  then  I  may  not  succeed  very  well. 

But  while  on  the  vessel  I  had  a  crushing  mis- 
fortune.    A  Greek  sailor  who   had  boon  in  the 

(563) 


564  HOMEWARD. 

naval  service  of  Eugland,  taking  nie  for  a  Brit- 
isher, I  suppose,  came  up  to  me  and  addressed 
me  in  English.  I  was  at  the  moment  jotting 
down  an  item,  but  I  closed  my  note-book  and  put 
it  into  my  side  pocket,  as  I  thought,  when  it 
slipped  down  to  the  floor  and  rolled  over  into  the 
sea.  That  book  contained  all  my  Delphic  inspira- 
tion for  weeks — scenes,  observations,  images, 
motives  for  hymns.  I  felt  at  first  as  if  I 
would  have  to  jump  into  the  water  after  it.  But 
I  did  not,  and  a  pang  came  over  me  which  made 
me  for  a  while  a  soul  damned:  I  thought  I  had 
lost  my  boon.  Ere  long,  however,  I  recovered 
myself  enough  to  set  about  recalling  and  writing 
down  again  everything  that  plunged  overboard  in 
that  book.  I  have  been  staying  two  days  at  this 
place  engaged  wholly  in  the  work  of  memory.  A 
few  things  have  refused  to  come  back;  at  least 
in  that  form  of  words  in  which  they  first  leaped 
out  of  the  mind. 

I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  anguish  which 
overflowed  me  for  a  full  dav ;  I  wandered  about 
forlorn,  plunged  suddenly  into  a  Hell  out  of  my 
Parnassian  Paradise.  But  now  I  begin  to  feel 
that  the  visitation  was  a  trial  of  my  faith,  and 
perchance  a  blessing.  It  has  compelled  me  to 
re-think,  to  re-imagine,  and  to  re-enact  before 
myself  that  whole  Delphic  experience,  by  an  in- 
tense and  despertite  effort  of  Will  which  hasstirred 
me  up  from  the  bottom.     I  could  not  have  other- 


A   TOUR  /iV  EUROPE.  5G5 

wise  known  how  deeply  that  sojourn  hud  taken 
hold  of  nic.  Though  such  a  re-creation  of  it, 
doubtless  it  has  cut  dee{)er  grooves  than  ever  in 
the  bed-rock  of  my  being. 

But  at  present  the  lost  is  pretty  well  restored, 
and  with  it  myself;  some  gaps  there  are  still, 
which  may  yet  be  partially  filled,  and  some  im- 
provements have  been  made  in  the  rescript.  So 
to-morrow  I  shall  internallv  be  calmed  down 
enough  to  look  outside  of  myself  again.  But  I 
did  have  an  Oceanic  tempest  inside,  which  utterly 
prevented  ray  journey  to  Olympia  where  I  must 
be  again  serene,  in  order  to  view  with  delight  and 
profit  that  new  phase  of  the  old  Greek  world 
recently  uncovered  by  the  German  excavators. 
To-morrow,  however,  I  hope  to  be  off  again ;  if 
not  then,  the  day  after. 

OJympia,  April  25t1i,  1879. 

The  German  excavation  of  this  far-famed 
locality  is  still  going  on,  and  I  have  seen  the 
gangs  digging  and  finding  a  few  little  objects. 
Some  four  years  the  work  has  been  prosecuted, 
so  that  the  temple  and  the  main  area  are  prac- 
tically uncovered.  From  the  village  of  Druva, 
which  lies  on  an  eminence  nearby,  I  can  look 
down  into  the  ruinous  shell  f)f  the  chief  religfious 
center  of  Greecededicated  to  Zeus  Olympius,  the 
supreme  God.     It  was  a  satisfaction  to  stand  or. 


566  HOME  WARD. 

the  spot  where  was  placed  the  ancient  statue  of 
him  by  Phidias,  about  which  such  rapturous  re- 
ports have  come  down  from  antiquity.  The 
Athenian  artist,  it  seems,  had  the  power  to  make 
the  much-divided  Greek  people  feel  its  oneness, 
as  they  looked  upon  his  revelation  of  their  com- 
mon highest  divinity.  Such  was  and  is  the  chief 
function  of  Art.  Phidias  united  all  Hellas  as 
no  Greek  statesman  or  conqueror  ever  did  or 
could,  and  the  act  of  unification  was  felt  on  this 
spot  in  the  mighty  epiphany  of  the  God.  But 
alack  a-day,  it  remained  only  a  feeling,  or  at 
most  an  inspiration;  it  never  rose  to  be  a  reality 
in  an  actual  institution.  But  the  statue  itself 
has  completely  disappeared,  possibly  some  frag- 
ments of  its  pedestal  may  be  lying  around  in  this 
rubbish. 

Still  quite  a  little  bit  of  sculpture  has  been  dug 
up,  and  is  now  collected  in  an  open  shed  on  the 
grounds  under  the  charge  of  a  Greek  keeper  of 
antiquities,  who  is  very  polite.  Of  course  I  start 
to  work  at  it  immediately,  and  find  many  sug- 
gestive fragments  to  keep  me  busy  in  trying  to 
reconstruct  that  old  sculpturesque  world.  But 
there  are  two  works  which  are  the  main  centers 
of  attraction.  First  is  the  Hermes  of  Praxiteles 
found  on  the  spot  where  it  was  described  by 
ancient  Pausanias.  Dr.  Treu  gave  me  a  vivid 
descri[)tion  of  its  first  discovery.  On  the  whole 
this  must  be  pronounced  the  most  perfect  work 


A  TOUR  IN  HunorE.  667 

of  art  which  antiquity  has  tran.sinitted — not  the 
greatest,  not  the  strongest,  I)ut  the  most  flaw- 
less. Next  in  importance  pro])ably  is  the  Victory 
of  Pieonius,  which  shows  the  stone  getting  over 
its  own  weight,  the  statue  flying  against  gravity ; 
thus  it  indicates  how  early  Sculpture  was  in  a 
struggle  with  its  own  limits. 

The  chief  interest  of  Olympia  now  is  that  it 
shows  us,  fragmentary  as  it  is,  the  art-world  of 
Hellas  concentrated  in  one  of  its  most  noted 
localities.  It  differs  from  Rome  in  having  works 
at  first  hand,  not  a  reproduction,  or  a  repro- 
duction of  a  reproduction.  If  Athens  could 
get  back  the  Elgin  marbles,  people  would 
have  to  go  to  Greece  to  see  Greek  Art  in  its 
highest  primal  efflorescence.  Naturally  I  com- 
pare Olympia  with  Del})hi,  which  may  be  exca- 
vated some  day  with  pick  and  spade.  But  I  have 
a  preference  for  my  kind  of  excavation  into  the 
soul  of  old  Hellas  through  the  still  pulsing  life, 
speech,  manners,  customs,  and  world-view  of 
the  people.  I  think  I  caught  glimi)ses  back  of 
Olympia  in  what  I  saw  at  Arachoba.  At  least 
that  is  the  strong  impression  which  I  am  carry- 
ing with  me  homeward.  But  what  a  cluster  of 
temples  stood  here,  what  a  forest  of  statues! 
Why  should  all  Hellas  concentrate  itself  on  this 
spot,  and  express  itself  in  art,  games,  poetry, 
and  religion?  Nature  at  Delj)hi  is  far  more 
suggestive,    varied    and    colossal.     In  the    great 


568  HOMEWARD. 

conflict  between  Greece  and  the  Orient,  Olyuipia 
seems  to  have  taken  no  part,  unci  it  never  had  a 
Herodotus  like  Delphi,  to  tell  of  it. 

The  visitor  will  be  interested  in  studying  the 
excavation,  the  greatest  and  best  organized  of  all 
yet  undertaken.  It  is  truly  a  German  work  in 
its  thoroughness  and  system.  I  watch  the 
laborers — more  than  200  it  is  said ;  they  are 
Greeks  who  are  now  paid  good  wages  for  digging 
out  their  own  things,  which  they  are  to  keep  in 
the  country.  One  watches  the  implements  throw- 
ing up  dirt,  to  see  if  a  treasure  of  some  kind 
may  be  unearthed ;  it  has  the  interest  of  a  game 
of  chance.  A  German  overseer  tells  me  that 
these  Greek  laborers  had  to  be  drilled  to  their 
task;  they  had  a  tendency  to  do  things  separ- 
ately and  in  their  own  way,  spading  a  little  here 
and  a  little  there,  individually.  Well,  that  was 
their  old  trouble.  Now  they  proceed  with  the 
discipline  of  the  German  army.  Report  runs 
that  the  ai)propri!ition  may  not  be  granted  next 
3'ear  by  the  Diet;  if  this  happens,  I  shall  have 
come  just  in  time  again. 

Very  hospitable  was  Dr.  Treu,  the  Director  of 
the  work;  at  his  invitation  I  dined  several  times 
with  his  family,  and  with  his  German  assistants, 
whose  autographs  I  still  And  in  my  note-book, 
namely.  Dr.  Ad.  Furtwangler,  Dr.  Wilhelm 
Dori)feld,  Dr.  Richard  Borrniaun.  These  were 
voung  fellows  busied  in  one  way    or  other  with 


i 


A   TOUR  IN  EUnOPE.  569 

the  iirch{ieoloi:;ic:iI  details  of  the  excavation.  But 
my  feelings  and  memories  chiefly  hovered 
around  Dr.  Treu's  little  daughter;  the  mother 
observing  mv  interest,  asked  me  if  I  had  eiii 
kknnes  Mddchen.  I  answered,  "-y^'^,  and  about 
of  the  same  age  and  l^t^sr«."  Whereat  came  a 
very  cordial  invitation  that  we  should  visit  them 
at  Berlin  ten  years  hence,  when  both  the 
daughters  would  be  young  ladies. 

I  have  my  own  room  in  a  separate  house  of 
the  village  where  I  sleep  and  work.  Every  day 
I  go  down  into  the  plain  of  Olympia,  watching 
the  laborers  and  studying  the  remains,  even  tak- 
ino'  little  excursions  in  the  neiijhborhood  and  up 
the  two  streams,  the  Alpheius  and  the  Cladeus, 
to  whose  overflows  and  sedimentary  deposits  the 
preservation  of  what  we  now  see,  is  due. 

Four  days  have  passed  pleasantly  enough,  but 
I  cannot  get  out  of  Olympia  my  Delphic 
enthusiasm.  Prosaic  archaeology  is  now  domi- 
nant, and  to  it  I  feel  that  I  have  done  my  duty 
and  nmst  be  off.  When  I  was  in  my  room  alone, 
the  Parnassian  hymn  would  begin  to  jingle  in 
spite  of  me,  and  to  sing  little  radiant  snatches  of 
itself.  To-morrow  I  shall  walk  to  the  lively 
business  town  of  Pyrgos;  thence  to  its  port 
called  Katakolon,  where  I  shall  board  the  Greek 
steamer  again,  which  will  wind  through  the 
Ionian  Islands  to  Corfu,  whence  an  Italian 
viroscafo  w\\\  land  me  at  Brindisi  on  the  l):ick 
track  toward  home. 


570  HOMEWABD. 

Naj)les,  May  2-5,  1879. 

Of    course    I    went   straight    to   the    Museum 
again,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  Pompcian 
])ictures.    They  are  still  beautiful,   but  not  quite 
so  attractive  as  they  were  before.     Some  remain 
the  same,  but  on  the  whole  one  feels  that  Art 
was  sinking  in  the  Pompeian  world,  and  was  be- 
comins:    the    degraded    slave  of  the  senses,  not 
their  transfigurer.     What  an  enormous  quantity 
of  pretty  graceful  figures  seeking  to  amuse  their 
conqueror!     How  different- from  the  Parthenon 
and   its    spirit  I     Still    more    remote    does    this 
Pompeian    manifestation    stand    from   the    Per- 
nassian.     It  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  anesthetic  for 
the  Roman  world-pain  (  Weltschmerz)  of  the  im- 
perial time.     I  peeped  into  the  forbidden  room 
in  which  is  locked  from  the   general  public  the 
nisfht-side  of  heathen  life  and  art.      I    could  not 
help    chuckling    at    an    old    priest    who  gazed 
intently  at  an  undraped  Venus.       The  Pompeian 
dancers  and  swaying  figures  seem  to  be  the  great 
favorites,  if  one  may  judge  by  the  number  of 
of  their  copyists. 

I  went  out  to  Pompeii  itself  and  spent  another 
full  day  in  seeing  and  renewing  my  former  ac- 
quaintances. I  found  them  all  quite  the  same  as 
before.  Tne  excavation  is  going  on  here  too, 
though  slowly.  Pompeii  still  remains  for  niethe 
colossal  image  of  ancient  Fate  which  finally  over- 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  571 

whelmed  tlie  Greco-Ronian  world.  Olympiu, 
too,  received  the  Siiine  I)h)vv  though  in  a  very 
different  way.  When  I  was  tired  of  rambling,  1 
took  out  my  note-book  and  read  my  Pompeiaii 
epigrams,  for  I  had,  when  here  before,  an 
epigrammatic  fit,  which  found  relief  only  by  in- 
dulgence. I  confess  that  I  have  no  such  creative 
tendency  now,  for  the  Delphic  bent  continues  the 
undertone  of  all  my  productive  moments.  Still 
I  have  renewed  the  memory  of  my  former  mood 
by  re-reading  some  little  elegiac  turns  like 

Ages  on  ages  were  working  in  Rome  the  mighty 
destruction 
Which    Pompeii    befell  in    but  a    moment  of 
Time. 

Pompeii  persists,  in  spite  of  its  reality,  in  be- 
ing symbolic  above  anything  that  I  have  seen  in 
classic  lands.  The  whole  appearance  impresses 
itself  upon  my  mind  as  a  symhoU  betokening  not 
merely  what  it  is  by  itself  alone,  but  what  its 
world  is — that  old  world  of  which  it  is  only  a  little 
part.  Nature  (in  Vesuvius)  seems  here  actually 
to  symbolize  through  her  own  inner  necessity. 
She  speaks  in  her  way  and  foretells  in  a  tongue 
which  utters,  to  me  at  least,  the  same  meaning 
as  that  of  Greek  Tragedy : 

Language  of  Destiny,  lettered  in  furious  flames 
on  this  mountain ; 
Alphabet  miglity  of  Fate  carved  on  this  town 
long  ago. 


572  HOMEWARD. 

I  cannot  again  ascend  to  the  mouth  of 
Vesuvius,  as  the  old  Titan  has  shown  himself 
very  restless  in  the  hist  few  days  under  his 
enormous  terrestrial  burden.  The  result  is 
excursionists  are  not  allowed  to  go  up  to  the 
cone,  let  alone  descend  into  the  crater.  I  desired 
once  more  to  enter  the  jaws  of  the  monster  and 
take  a  peep  down  his  fiery  throat,  but  of  course 
I  don't  want  to  be  swallowed  by  him,  or  to  leap 
into  his  flaming  belly  as  the  Greek  philosopher 
Empedocles  is  reported  to  have  done  at  ^tna. 
Looking  at  the  smoke-wreathed  mountain  in  the 
distance  from  Pompeii,  and  soliloquizing  upon 
its  peculiar  symbolic  promptings,  I  put  together 
some  odd  fragments  of  an  epigram  from  my 
note-book,  piecing  it  out  thus : 

Destiny  smiteth  one  with   her  scepter,   that  all 
be  forever, 
Slayeth   this  moment  of    Time  that  so  Eter- 
nity be ; 
Evil  she  is  to  the  moment,  but  to  Eternity  holy; 
Wrecked    she     Pompeii     then,     hence     thou 
beholdest  it  now. 


A  TOUR  LY  EUliOPE.  573 

Rome,  Mau  0-10,  1879. 

As  I  entered  Rome  for  the  third  time  on  the 
way  back  from  Greece,  the  emotion  was  strangely 
altered,  I  ni:iy  say,  reversed.  Coming  from 
Paris  or  Germany  to  the  Eternal  City,  one  seems 
to  be  swimming  uj)  stream,  against  the  currrntof 
civilization;  but  i)assing  from  Ilellas  to  Italy  I 
am  floating  down  stream,  along  with  the  sweep 
of  the  World's  History.  I  have  been,  as  I 
believe,  at  the  head  waters  of  Europe's  culture^ 
and  have  taken  a  dip  there  to  the  extent  of  my 
powers.  That  little  Parnassian  world  is  or  rep- 
resents the  germinal  microcosm  out  of  which 
Time  has  unfolded  the  present  civilized  macro- 
cosm, which  of  course  reaches  out  to  America. 
Now  I  have  come  down  to  Rome  (not  come  up 
to  it  as  before)  in  the  descent  of  the  ages,  as 
Greece  herself  once  flowed  over  this  way  long  ere 
the  Christian  era  began.  Thus  I  feel  myself  to 
be  making  the  round  of  Eur()i)ean  civilization,  on 
its  ascending  and  descending  arcs,  the  latter 
being  now  my  path  homeward. 

Quite  instinctively  I  knocked  at  my  former 
landlady's  door;  she  came  and  again  she  put  me 
into  my  old  room,  for  the  third  time  after  sepa- 
ration. Also  there  is  another  change  in  her, 
which  has  taken  place  during  my  six  months' 
absence  :  she  a[)pears  before  me  now  transformed 
into  the  happy  mother  with  babe  at  the  breast. 


574  HOMEWARD. 

Of  course  I  am  delighted;  "that  just  suits  me," 
I  exclaim,  "now  we  shall  have  the  Madonna  and 
Bambino  alive  and  at  home,  instead  of  having  to 
go  to  the  picture  gallery  for  them  or  to  the 
church.'' 

At  once  I  began  to  get  ready  for  another  dive 
into  Eonie,  bringing  together  my  books,  charts, 
drawings,  etc.  As  I  laid  out  my  scribbled 
Delphic  papers  in  considerable  quantity  upon  the 
table,  my  landlady  happened  to  come  into  the 
room  and  to  take  notice  of  them — a  thing  she 
never  did  before.  "  What  is  all  that  writing?" 
she  asked  naively  :  "is  it  roba  d' amove?''  I  con- 
fess I  was  puzzled  for  a  reply.  She  wanted  to 
know  if  it  was  all  about  love,  and  I  could  not 
exactly  say  yes  nor  no,  for  I  had  not  settled  the 
question  in  my  own  mind.  The  baby  cried,  and 
out  she  ran  without  quizzing  me  any  further; 
thus  the  little  drama  got  solved  by  a  new  Deus 
ex  machina. 

At  my  quarters  I  am  in  ear-shot  of  the  Foun- 
tain of  Trevi,  to  which  I  soon  went  for  a  sight 
and  a  drink.  There  I  met  my  young  Italian 
friend  Giovanni,  the  devoted  admirer  of  Leo- 
pardi,  who  has  been  called  the  Heine  of  Italy. 
Whether  the  comparison  fits  I  do  not  know. 
We  went  off  together  to  a  neighboring  restaurant 
and  had  a  dish  of  macaroni  washed  down  by  the 
wine  of  Albano  from  a  wicker  flask.  All  this 
was    in    memory    of    old    times.     I  asked  aft^r 


A  TOUIi  IN  EUROPE.  575 

our  common  German  friend  from  Magdeburof, 
the  Pvthairorean,  who  started  for  Naples  and 
Southern  Italy  on  foot  about  the  time  I  fjuit 
Rome  last  year.  "He  is  in  town"  said  (Jio- 
vanni.  Then  we  shall  see  him  this  afternoon  on 
the  Pincio  where  he  always  attends  the  concert, 
and  hear  something  about  his  experiences. 

I  visit  the  Vatican  Museum  of  Sculpture  and 
salute  all  my  old  friends  there,  to  whom  I  have 
grown  affectionate,  though  they  be  of  cold  stone. 
Particularly  I  am  drawn  toward  the  tragic 
Laocoon,  which  seems  to  me  now  more  propheti-c 
than  ever,  after  I  have  seen  ruined  Hellas  at 
Delphi,  Olympia,  Athens.  That  premonitory 
Greek  Fate  like  a  serpent  comes  down  upon  me 
again,  and  actually  bites  me  to  pain,  since  I  have 
become  so  deeply  Hellenic.  I  re-read  my  former 
notes  upon  the  Loocoon,  amounting  to  ten  closely 
w^ritten  pages  of  letter-paper;  I  studied  again 
the  lengthy  account  of  it  in  Overbeck ;  what  is 
all  this  writing  compared  to  that  visible  commen- 
tary written  in  the  ruins  of  Greece?  Overcom- 
ing is  the  sympathy  ;  I  too  have  to  feel  myself  to 
be  tragic,  in  so  far  as  I  am  Greek.  Hardly  can 
I  live  outside  of  the  World's  History,  which  is 
so  impressive  here  at  Rome.  Indeed  one  has  on 
this  spot  to  die  vicariously  with  antiquity  and 
then  be  resurrected. 

At  the  Capitoline  Museum  also  I  renewed  my 
marble  friendships.      Who  there  allures  nie  the 


576  BOMEWATtD. 

most  now?  The  Faun  of  Praxiteles,  not  the 
artist's  own  work,  but  the  best  copy  of  it  ex- 
tant. Still  I  had  to  say  to  it,  dialogizing 
inwardly  with  myself :  I  know  you  better  than  I 
did  when  here  before.  "I  have  seen  you  alive  at 
Delphi,  on  the  sunny  Parnassian  declivities,  in- 
side the  dark  Corycean  Cave ;  I  have  talked  to 
you  in  rural  Greek,  and  even  addressed  to  you  a 
Delphic  hymn  in  English.  Your  original,  the 
statue  of  Praxitiles  I  have  not  seen,  but  I  have 
seen  the  original  of  his  original,  back  yonder  in 
that  Parnassian  world. ' '  So  I  speak  to  the  Marble 
Faun  on  the  Capitol,  but  behold  in  him  the  liv- 
ing Faun  in  his  happy  primitive  Delphic  environ- 
ment 

A  beautiful  urn,  which  I  recognized  as  having 
been  already  a  favorite  of  mine,  I  look  at  again 
with  the  old  delight,  contemplating  the  merry 
scene  depicted  on  its  sides,  though  it  seems  to 
have  contained  the  ashes  of  a  youth.  Already  I 
have  noticed  this  ancient  contrast  to  our  gloomy 
view  of  death,  and  its  peculiar  influence  over  me. 
I  was  led  to  write  an  epitaph  upon  this  strange 
gravestone,  which  ran  as  follows: 

O  fair  boy,  around  this  urn  where  thy  ashes  are 

resting, 
Nymphs  are  dancing  in  glee  to  the  mad  flute  of 

the  Faun; 
Joyous  was  ever  thy  life,  each  day  wasthebloom 

of  a  banquet, 


A  TOUR  m  EUROPE.  677 

Through  this  gate  of   the  tomb  on  thou  dost 

leap  with  a  hiugh. 
Still    with    this    rout    of    merry   musicians    and 

dancers  around  thee, 
E'en  old  Hades  will  smile,   all   his  dark   grot 

will  be  lit. 

This  is  in  the  form  of  the  epigram  (or  inscrip- 
tion), which  reminds  me  that  the  epigrammatic 
bent  with  its  utterance  in  elegiacs  betjan  here  at 
Rome  about  one  year  ago.  It  throbs  up  now  and 
then,  but  the  Delphic  mood  is  what  still  domi- 
nates me  creatively.  But  I  am  chiefly  engaged 
in  the  prosaic  task  of  refreshing  and  reviewing 
all  my  former  Roman  work,  which  task  keeps 
me  busy  at  three  main  matters :  to  see  the 
objects  thoroughly  again,  to  read  my  former 
notes  upon  them  and  make  new  comments, 
finally  to  consult  the  necessary  books. 

At  my  quarters  two  recent  arrivals  I  may  note. 
The  first  flea  appeared  an  hour  or  so  since ;  I 
have  a  greater  terror  of  him  than  before  because 
of  a  Greek  experience.  Wandering  through 
Attica  one  day,  night  overtook  me  and  I  stayed 
in  a  little  hamlet  called  Heracleon,  a  settlement 
chiefly  of  old  Bavarian  soldiers  of  King  Otho's 
time.  Next  morniuo;  I  counted  64  redsougeson 
my  wrist  alone,  the  battle  having  continued  all 
night.  The  second  arrival  is  the  rapper,  what- 
ever he  be,  making  a  pother  over  my  head  in 
the  garret  late  at  night.     I  again  asked  the  land- 


578  H03IEWABD. 

lady  about  it,  but  she  professed  ignorance, 
though  I  could  see  by  her  color  and  action  that 
she  knew  somewhat.  She  turned  away  as  from 
a  forbidden  thing,  and  of  course  I  dropped  the 
matter.  I  shall  have  to  suffer  it  to  remain  as  an 
unsolved  problem  along  with  some  other  Roman 
mysteries,  for  instance  that  of  the  great  Michael 
Angelo  himself.  Let  it  stand  as  a  symbol  of 
that  Eome  which  I  did  not  see — doubtless  a  very 
considerable  fragment  of  it. 

But  the  hour  has  come  when  I  must  leave 
Rome  finally,  though  I  have  repeatedly  made  and 
unmade  my  resolution  to  stay  a  week,  a  month 
longer  at  this  vast  ganglion  of  antiquity,  into 
which  all  once  came  and  all  once  went  out.  I 
am,  however,  on  the  descending  arc  of  the 
World's  History,  and  also  of  my  European  Jour, 
ney — and  this  must  now  get  itself  done.  Pretty 
well  I  have  connected  Rome  with  the  past  in  its 
monuments.  The  Colosseum,  for  instance,  that 
enormous  shell  of  the  Roman  Empire,  now  lying 
here  broken,  with  the  living  thing  gone  out  of  it 
which  made  it  and  of  which  it  was  a  mighty 
manifestation,  I  have  linked  backwards  with 
Pompeii,  with  Olympia,  even  with  the  Parthenon. 
The  line  for  me  at  present  always  runs  on  till  it 
reaches  the  Parnassus,  the  little  living  cell  which 
existed  long  before  the  rest  of  the  huge  body, 
and  still  exists  in  primordial  activity.  The  old 
Greek  seems  to  have  had  some  far-off  presenti- 


A   TOUR  ly  EVUOPE.  579 

meut  of  its  destiuj  I>y  making  it  the  seat  of  the 
Mut-es,  who  are  immortal.  Thut>  I  am  now 
always  looking  backward  while  going  forward, 
interlooping  the  end  with  the  beginning. 

This  is  the  last  afternoon  of  my  Roman  stay, 
ere  I  take  the  evening  train  for  the  North  ;  I 
long  to  see  the  whole  city  again  and  I  go  out  for 
a  view  from  the  Pincio.  Rome  lies  before  me  in 
all  her  sunlit  grandeur,  and  reveals  her  most 
majestic  moment,  but  the  suu  yonder,  the  source 
of  the  grand  illumination,  is  rapidly  dropping 
seaward.  I  sit  down  on  a  stone  bench  under  au 
ilex,  and  start  to  elegizing  him  in  accord  with  my 
mood.  It  is  the  last  elegy  written  in  Rome,  where 
the  first  bubbled  up  more  than  twelve  months  ago 
in  a  way  which  still  makes  me  a  puzzle  to  myself. 

Stay,  O  Sun,  in  thy  course,  restrain   the     mad 
flight  of  the  Hours  ! 
Look  from  thy  chariot  on  high,  ponder  the 
glories  of  Rome ; 
Nothing  so  great  ever  rose  up  under  thine  eye  on 
this  planet, 
Thou,     I    know,    hast    seen    all,     measuring 
bloom  and  decay ; 
Stop  thy  steeds  for  to-day,  let  them  rest  on  the 
slopes  of  the  mountains 
Ere  thou  fling  thyself  down  under  the  waves  of 
the  sea ; 
Pour  thy  fiery  glances  over  the  grand  Colosseum, 


580  IJOMEWAED.    ' 

Burnish  anew  the  okl  fanes  with    thy  warm 
shimmer  of  gold. 
—  For   a    moment    methought    the  Sungod  an- 
swered my  prayer, 
Suddenly  into    one    glance   flashing    Eome's 
present  and  past, 
Letting  me  see  with  his  eye  all  at  once  her  ages 
of  glory. 
Showing  her  last  best  look  as  he  sprang  under 
the  sea. 

Paris,  May  18th  to  June  18th,  1879. 

I  enter  my  old  stopping-place  again  in  Rue 
Vivienne,  seventh  story,  and  find  my  Swiss- 
French  landlady  quite  the  same  as  I  left  her, 
whose  husband  is  still  the  bed-maker  for  the 
lodgers.  She  thanked  me  for  the  people  I  had 
sent  her  along  the  path  of  my  travels.  At  once 
she  brought  out  of  the  closet  the  French  books 
which  I  had  left  in  her  charge  some  fifteen  months 
ago,  when  my  face  was  turned  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

The  first  days  I  have  spent  in  looking  over  Pans 
again.  Bernhardt  is  still  the  rage,  and  I  go  to  see 
her  rendition  of  Victor  Hugo's  plays,  especially 
those  in  which  I  saw  her  before.  What  a  quantity 
of  theaters  in  Paris,  yet  each  with  its  own  pecu- 
liar character!  I  run  after  them  all,  often  with- 
out much  result.  The  piece  which  has  ]:)roduced 


A  TOIJB  IN  EUROPE.  581 

the  strongest  impression  upon  nie  is  the  Tartujfe 
by  Moli(ire.  I  knew  the  pl;iy  as  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, but  tlie  actor  of  the  main  part,  that  of  tlie 
religious  hypocrite,  \v;is  the  best  expositor  of  the 
meaning  of  this  drama  I  liave  ever  seen.  The 
buihling  was  pacivcd  and  the  audience  was  anti- 
clerical ;  every  hit  against  the  priests  received  a 
thunderous  response,  in  which  particularly  a  large 
numl)er  of  women  joined.  Once  I  thought  there 
might  be  a  riot,  but  the  uproar  toned  down,  as 
there  was  no  opposition.  It  was  interesting  and 
verv  suggestive  to  see  irrelio^ious  Paris  havino:  a 
little  picnic. 

I  have  been  going  a  good  deal  to  the  Univer- 
sity for  the  purpose  of  hearing  three    lecturers, 
some  of  whose  books  are  known  to  me.  Mezieres 
has  written   acceptably  alxnit   Shakespeare,  and 
is  now  discoursing  upon  Don  Quixote.     With  a 
fair  amount  of  good-will  and   application  I  can 
not  get  nuich  out  of  it,  exce{)t  a  laugh  now  and 
then    which  really    belongs    to    Cervantes.     M. 
Caro    I  have    heard    upon    the    classic    French 
Tragedy  (Racine  and  Corncille)  which  I  also  try 
to  see  as  often  as  possible  on  the  boards.  Icannot 
say  that  I  have  yet  become  sympathetic  with  it, 
in  spite  of  all  my  repeated  efforts.    Is  it  that  my 
long  study  of  Shakespeare  (Voltaire's   drunken 
savage)    has  warped  me?     Still   I    like  the   old 
Greek  drama,  which  is  declared  to  be  the  origin  of 
these  Franco-classical  plays.  Caro  is  an  eloquent 


582  HOMEWARD. 

and  also  a  very  handsome  man:  it  is  said  that  the 
fine  ladies,  who  flock  to  his  lectures  to  see  him 
more  than  to  hear  him,  have  re-baptized  him 
Carissimo.  Another  lecture  which  I  took  pains 
to  attend  on  account  of  St.  Louis  associations 
was  given  by  M.  Paul  Janet,  a  neat  da[)per  little 
fellow  with  a  buttonhole  bouquet  and  with  a  very 
precise  ennunciation.  I  remembered  him  from 
his  attack  on  Hegel,  which  Harris  reviewed  in  a 
telling  article  which  he  read  to  the  philosophical 
group  on  Salisbury  street.  Afterwards  the 
article  was  printed  in  an  early  number  of  the 
Journal  of  Speculative  Philosophy. 

Of  course  I  have  often  gone  to  the  Louvre 
Galleries,  and  saluted  my  familiars  there.  I  was 
astonished  that  I  knew  them  so  well  after  my 
considerable  absence.  Still  I  shall  have  to  con- 
fess that  the  first  keen  edge  of  interest  was  a 
little  worn.  The  statues  had  a  tendency  to  go 
back  to  Greece,  and  I  went  witlithem;  the  Diana 
of  Versailles  for  instance,  protecting  her  fawn 
became  intimately  associated  in  my  mind  with 
Iphigenia,  who  was  sacrificed  to  her  at  Aulis. 
Therewith  came  up  again  my  Greek  tetralogy, 
which  haunted  me  for  several  days.  But  par- 
ticularly in  this  distant  sculpturesque  world  my 
Delphic  Moment  rises  as  the  end  toward  which  I 
from  the  first  was  tending  (though  I  did  not 
know  it),  and  from  which  I  am  now  returning. 
That  is  now  my  real  genetic  Self,  so    that,  i^  I 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  583 

write  anything  crcativch',  it  drcjp.sinto  a  Dclj)hic 
Ilynm,  of  wliich  I  have  produced  at  least  a  dozen 
samples  here  at  Paris. 

Still  I  have  tried  to  do  something  else  in  a 
kind  of  desperation.  My  distinctive  local  study 
has  been  the  old  classical  drama  of  the  time  of 
Louis  XIV,  which  once  played  such  a  high  part 
•  in  European  Literature.  It  is  a  modern  repro- 
duction of  the  Greek  drama.  Thus  it  might 
give  me  assistance  in  building  my  Iphigenia 
edifice  of  four  dramas.  It  is  largely  this  which 
has  caused  my  month's  delay  in  Paris,  where  the 
environment  is  favorable  and  where  the  old 
French  dramatic  tradition  still  prevails.  \_Edi- 
torial  Note.  The  author's  travail  over  Iphigenia 
never  produced  a  drama  at  all.  After  years  of 
incubation,  which  may  be  considered  an  evolu- 
tion, the  legend  insisted  upon  eschewing  a  dra- 
matic and  even  a  classic  form,  and  finally  got 
born  as  rhymed  Tale  of  a  romantic  cast.] 

And  I  have  had  here  another  little  deflection 
from  the  Delphic  bent.  Sauntering  through  the 
Latin  Quarter  one  day,  I  came  upon  the  busi- 
ness house  of  Didot,  the  great  publisher  of  Greek 
and  Latin  Classics.  I  yielded  to  the  temj^tation 
of  buying  his  edition  of  i\iQ  AntJiologia  Palathia, 
with  Latin  translation,  though  I  had  already  two 
other  editions,  and  was  besides  overburdened 
with  luggage.  I  carried  the  volumes  to  my  room 
and  delved  in  them  for  several  davs,  having 
caught  another  little  spell  of  the    epigrammatic 


584  HOMEWABD. 

fever.  The  many  epigrams  or  rather  epitaphs 
upon  Anacreon  attracted  me  specially,  written  by 
a  number  of  Greek  poets  of  different  ages,  and 
celebrating  various  sides  of  his  poetic  character. 
Two  of  the  best  of  these  poets  were  Simonides 
of  Cos,  who  is  said  to  have  perfected  the  epigram, 
and  the  much  later  Leonidas  of  Tarentum.  To 
this  fact  should  be  added  that  modern  poets  have 
taken  up  the  same  theme,  the  most  celebrated 
being  Goethe,  who  has  also  left  his  epitaph  upon 
Anacreon  in  elegiacs.  Herder  likewise  is  said  to 
have  busied  himself  with  this  subject,  by  way  of 
translation  into  German,  though  he  was  a 
preacher. 

As  to  Anacreon  himself  he  seems  to  voice  in 
sono-  the  sensuous  side  of  the  Greek  world  taken 
by  itself.  All  art  indeed  has  this  element, 
thoush  not  for  it  own  sake  in  the  highest  works. 
Anacreon,  therefore,  represents  a  phase  of  Greek 
life  and  art,  though  not  the  loftiest  phase.  Still 
his  fascination  has  always  been  great.  I  recol- 
lect that  as  a  boy  I  read  some  of  his  pieces  in 
Bullions'  Greek  Keader  and  was  captivated.  At 
Rome  I  picked  him  up  again,  and  even  made 
some  verses  after  his  pattern,  as  I  also  tried  my 
hand  at  reproducing  in  English  some  of  Horace's 
meters.  But  the  elegiac  stream  soon  swallowed 
all  these  little  rills. 

Here  at  Paris  I  too  have  written  an  epitaph  on 
Anacreon,  in  audacious  rivalry  with  the  old 
Greeks  and  with  Goethe.       In    fact    Paris  is  a 


A  TOUR  IN"  EUROPE.  585 

stimulating  environment  for  such  a  vein,  tiiis 
city  being  famous  for  its  Anacreontic  charac- 
ter. The  sens;c-life  is  here  fully  unfolded  and 
portrayed,  chiefly  in  the  form  of  the  novel. 
To  me  Anacreon  is  intoxicated  not  simply  with 
wine  but  with  every  form  of  sensation,  his  own 
poetry  even  works  on  him  like  an  intoxicant.  I 
appreciate  him  the  better  now,  since  I  have  be- 
come a  little  inebriated  on  my  own  ei)igram. 
But  enouo-h  1  toss  it  off  and  be  done  with  it,  and 
therewith  be  done  with  gay  Anacreontic  Paris. 

Merry  Anacreon,  many  an  epigram  tells  of  thy 
joyance, 
And  thy  epitaph  too  ever  is  written  afresh  ; 
Wine  and  Love  and  the  Muse  made  thy  life  one 
intoxication, 
Even  thy  death  is  a  feast  lighting  grim  Hades 
with  joy. 
All    made  thee    drunk — the  twitter  of   swallows 
the  chirp  of  cicadas, 
Love  of  maiden  and  youth,  gift  of  mad  Bac- 
chus as  well. 
Nature  becomes  a  melodious  roundel    reeling    in 
verses, 
Koses  and  ivy  and  vines  twirl  in  thy  lines  with 
a  laugh ; 
But  the  most  maddening  draught  to  thyself  and 
to  me  is  thy  poem, 
A  true  singer  thou    art,  on  thine    own    song 
thou  art  drunk. 


586  HOMEWABD. 

London,  June  19th  to  July  1st,  1879. 

Not  far  from  Victoria  Station  is  the  Shakes- 
peare building  in  which  I  had  my  quarters  when 
I  first  came  to  London.  I  rap  at  the  door;  be- 
hold the  same  landlady,  who  says:  "you can  have 
your  old  room."  It  seems  to  be  a  mark  of  Euro- 
pean stability  that  these  landladies  never  change. 
iOn  this  back  track  already  at  Naples  I  found  my 
[former  hostess  (a  German  by  the  way,  Frau 
Zepf -Weber).  So  it  has  beenatRome  and  Paris. 
'  It  was  not  long  before  I  found  myself  in  the 
British  Museum  taking  my  old  positions  for 
viewing  fully  the  Elgin  Marbles,  the  other  half 
of  the  Parthenon  which  has  been  transported  to 
London.  Artistically  my  European  journey  has 
lain  between  these  two  halves  of  the  most  perfect 
Greek  temple,  the  sculptural  and  the  architec- 
tural halves.  I  started  with  the  first  here  in 
London  eighten  months  ago,  traveled  on  to  the 
second,  and  have  circled  back  to  the  first  again. 
Externally,  and  in  a  way  internally  I  believe  I 
have  united  the  disrupted  Parthenon,  the  type  of 
the  Greek  world,  putting  together  the  members 
of  its  beautiful  organism  from  the  extremes  of 
Europe.  Of  course  I  feel  my  attitude  now  to 
be  different  from  what  it  first  was:  I  seek  to 
join  both  the  Arts,  Sculpture  and  Architecture, 
together,  as  they  were  anciently  conjoined;  then 
I  try  to  behold  each  of  them,  diverse  as  they  are, 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  587 

rising  from  a  common  conception.  This  was  the 
divine  ejjiphany  vvliich  was  shown  in  the  central 
figure  of  each  pediment,  whose  triangular  form 
indicates  a  gradual  ascent  to  the  Ilij^hest.  Here 
is  the  one  genetic  source  from  which  flow  both 
the  statuary  and  the  temple. 

I  am  repeating  myself  again,  as  everywhere  on 
this    back    track    of  mine,  reading    my    former 
notes,  which  are  quite  extensive,  as  well  as  re- 
perusing  my  Overbeck.  1  have  to  laugh  at  some 
of    my    previous     observations     on     the    Elgin 
Marbles,  hardly  more  than  desperate  struggles  to 
dive  into   the  heart  of    the  refractory  stone.     I 
seem  to  read  between  the  lines  of  my  own  writ- 
ing:  "Not  now,  not  now:  you  must  goto  Hellas 
first  and  then  come  back."    Eeally  I  have  a  mind 
to  believe  that  good-fortune  led  me  into  the  best 
way;  genetically  the  statue,  or  the  divine  a])pear- 
ance,  is  first,  and  calls  forth  a  dwelling-place  ex- 
pressive and  worthy  of  the  God  whose  habitation 
it  is.    Architecture  creatively  comes  after  Scul}i- 
ture,  not    before  it,  where  it  is  usually  placed  in 
the  ordering  of  the  Fine  Arts,   for  instance  by 
Hegel  and  his  followers.       Moreover  we  are  not 

i 

to  forget  that  the  original  divine  appearance 
reaches  back  to  Homer  of  whose  poetry  it  is  the 
center  and  directive  agency.  The  group  of  the 
pediment,  and  indeed  all  highest  Sculpture  is 
Homer  realized,  materialized,  his  Gods  being 
transformed  into  visil)le  objective  shapes. 


588  HOME  WABD. 

Thus  the  Elo-in  Marbles  have  caused  me  to  look 
back  to  the  Parthenon  through  the  line  of  Greek 
Art  along  which  I  have  passed.  Still  there  is 
something  which  they  cannot  bring  with  them  : 
the  climate,  the  atmosphere,  the  harmonious 
Nature  out  of  which  they  seem  to  bloom.  They 
cannot  bring  Hymettus  smiling  down  upon  its 
own  artistic  world  in  a  kind  of  visible  at- 
tunement : 

Look !  on  this  side  Parthenon  lies,   on  that  side 
Hymettus ; 
If  thou  canst  hear  with  the  eye,  both  of  them 
chime  to  one  note, 
The  clear  temple  doth  echo  along  all  the  lines  of 
the  mountain, 
And  the  mountain  of  stone  throbs  into  temples 
unbuilt. 

Still  less  do  we  catch  any  note  here  of  that 
Parnassian  life  which,  as  we  think,  lies  back 
even  of  the  Elgin  Marbles  and  of  Phidias,  and  is 
the  far-off  prelude  of  their  coming.  Naturally  I 
travel  back  through  them  to  my  Delphic  Moment, 
reproducing  in  a  kind  of  Neo-Platonic  ecstacy, 
the  original  creative  idea  of  the  Hellenic  world. 

Undoubtedly  the  plaintive  sigh  of  these 
marble  exiles  for  the  sunny  land  of  their  birth  I 
still  hear,  but  my  feeling  toward  it  has  changed. 
Formerly  strong  sympathy  led  me  to  wish  for 
their  immediate  restoration  to    the    home  from 


A  TOUR  IX  EUROPE.  589 

which  they  were  torn   in  an  unha})[)y  time;   this 
restoration    is    also  tlio    fervent   prayer    of  the 
modern  Greek,  for  I  have  often  heard  it  from  hi.s 
lips.     But  I  have  come  to  think  of  them  as  mis- 
sionaries to  us  barbarous  Northerners,  preaching 
the  evangel  of  Greek  culture  and  beauty.     So  I 
have  now    to    respond  to  their  home-sick  cry: 
♦'You  are  in  the  right  place,  where  the  beniticent 
Powers  have  brought  you  ;  you  can  do  moregood 
in  London  than  anywliere  else,  directing  us,  as 
you  do,  significantly  to  the  source  of  European 
civilization.     I  lean  to    the  opinion    that  unless 
you    had  been  here   in   England    pleading  your 
cause,  Greece  would  not   have  been  free  to-day; 
an  English  admiral  would  not  have  destroyed  the 
Turkish  fleet  in  the  bay  of  Navarino,  and  Lord 
Byron  would  not  have  gone   to  fight  for   Greek 
independence,  taking  all  ideal  Europe  with  him. 
Your  eloquent  forms,  though  l)attercd  and  broken 
and  crying  the  distress  of  a  crushed  world,  have 
been  and  still  are    all-persuading  through  their 
revelation  of  eternal  beauty.       On  my  own  part 
let  me  say  to  you  that  unless  I  had  seen  you  here 
at  the  start,  I  doubt  if  I  would  have  ever  seen 
your  Hellas,  and  have  renewed   my  own  youth 
by  a  fresh  dip  in  the  youth  of  the  world.     And 
what  is  true  of  me  is  now  true  of  thousands,  and 
is  going  to  be  true  of    millions.     Starting  from 
you  here  in  London  they  will  make,  in  one  way 
or  other,  the  grand  Greek  loop,  sweeping  round 


590  HOME  WAUD. 

to  Hellas  through  Europe  and  back  again, 
in  thousand  fold  itineraries,  which  embrace  the 
cycle  of  European  civilization." 

Such,  at  least,  has  been  my  loop  of  Europe, 
quite  unpurposed  but  now  concluded,  having 
swung  from  this  initial  push  to  the  Parnassian 
El  Dorado  with  its  culminating  Delphic  Moment, 
and  then  having  vibrated  back  again  to  its  start- 
ing-point.  Moreover  I  cannot  help  noting  that 
this  one  greatest  loop  has  had  a  tendency  to 
curvet  about  in  lesser  loops,  large  and  little.  But 
after  all  the  loop  is  not  yet  ended,  though  it  has 
taken  up  Europe;  it  must  still  reach  out  to 
America,  even  to  St.  Louis  on  the  Mississippi. 
To-morrow  I  shall  board  the  vessel  on  this  last 
stretch  of  my  journey. 


St.  Louis,  Aug.  1st,  1879. 

Having"  arrived  early  this  morning  I  hastened 
from  the  Railroad  Station  to  the  corner  of  Fifth 
and  Market,  waiting  for  my  friend  Judge  Woer- 
ner  [to  whom  many  of  the  foregoing  letters, 
probably  the  most  intimate  ones,  were  addressed] . 
Soon  I  saw  him  jump  off  the  street-car,  and  I 
went  up  to  him,  as  he  walked  toward  his  office  in 
the  Court  House.  After  a  hearty  greeting,  we 
spoke  together  of  matters  of  mutual  interest,  not 
failing  to  have  a  word  about  our  common  friend 
Brockmeyer,  whose  influence  has  gone  so  deep 


A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  ^91 

into  the  lives  of  both  of  us.  "  But  you,"  ho 
said  *•  have  taken  quite  a  turn  in  life,  since  I  saw 
you  off  two  years  ago  this  coming  Deceniher. 
You  seem  the  same,  yet  are  not."  "  I  suppose 
so,"  I  replied,  *'  but  I  do  not  know  what  it  all 
means  myself,"  *♦  Well,  you  have  reached  the 
end  of  it  safely  anyhow,"  he  added.  "Yes," 
I  replied,  "  the  end  of  it  l)ut  also  the  beginning. 
Indeed  I  am  thinking  that  the  end  of  it  is  so 
complete  that  I  shall  have  to  begin  all  over 
again." 


postscript* 

St.  Louis,  September  1907. 

Certain  editorial  notes  which  have  been  scat- 
tered through  the  preceding  book,  have  doubt- 
less hinted  to  the  reader  this  fact:  an  author  is 
here  editinff  his  own  letters  after  a  considerable 
lapse  of  time.  Let  it  be  added,  that  this  final 
letter  is  addressed  "  to  whom  it  may  concern," 
a  person  not  hitherto  on  the  list  of  correspond- 
ents, but  for  whom  above  all  others  the  present 
book  is  now  to  be  taken  out  of  its  long  storage 
in  manuscript  and  put  into  type. 

If  the  date  of  the  first  letter  be  compared  with 

that  of  this  last  one,  thirty  years  lacking  a  few 

months  will  be  seen  to  lie  between  them.     The 

general    reader  will    be    apt  to  ask:  Why  print 

(592) 


A  TOUR  /.V  EUROPE.  i>'J3 

such  an  old  lot  of  .scu'ibljliug  so  far  hehiiid  tin; 
time?  The  an^-vvcr  is,  that  the  hook  is  not  in- 
tended for  the  general  puhhc,  at  least  not  pri- 
marily ;  not  every  book  is  for  everybody,  very 
few  are  for  many,  not  one  is  for  all,  and  very 
many  are  for  nobody.  The  present  collection  of 
fluttering  leaflets  has  been  stamped  in  printer's 
ink  and  sewed  together  for  the  author's  pupils 
and  friends  first  of  all  — for  those  who  may  wish 
to  see  him  as  he  was  nearly  a  generation  ago  in 
a  pivotal  act  at  a  pivotal  time  of  life.  The  pub- 
lic in  general  cannot  well  have  any  such  interest, 
though  of  course  it  is  not  prohil)ited  from  read- 
ing the  book,  and  finding  as  much  fault  with  the 
same  as  it  pleases.  We  repeat,  the  book  is  now 
addressed  to  ivhom  it  may  concern. 

The  main  ground  for  its  existence  is,  then, 
personal,  biographic  —  at  least  such  is  the 
author's  own  view  of  the  matter.  The  prime 
object  is  not  to  give  information  al)out  European 
lands,  though  the  contents  may  not  be  lacking  in 
some  information  for  earnest  seekers. 

The  letters  were  written  to  about  a  dozen 
different  persons,  of  different  ages,  creeds,  sexes, 
nationalities,  and  workl-views  —  also  of  different 
grades  and  kinds  of  culture.  In  each  letter 
probably  there  is  some  sort  of  spiritual  adjust- 
ment to  the  person  to  whom  it  is  written.  To 
my  own  father,  then  living,  I  wrote  frequently; 
I  could  send  to  him  nn  account  of  the  old  German 

38 


594  POSTSCBIPT. 

Pythogorean  hailing  from  Magdeburg,  but  he 
would  not  be  much  interested  in  Greek  sculpture. 
Another  correspondent  was  quite  the  reverse 
both  in  temperament  and  knowledge.  The  reader 
may  have  sometimes  to  take  this  adjustment  into 
account.  But  at  any  rate  the  whole  thing  is 
honestly  mine,  and  that  is  what  must  finally 
hold  its  flying  atoms  together. 

In  performing  the  editorial  function  for  my- 
self, I  have  made  a  number  of  excisions  upon  my 
own  productions.  Some  readers  will  doubtless 
think  that  I  ought  to  have  been  more  pitiless, 
and  to  have  cut  out  this  and  that  passage  offen- 
sive to  somebody  for  this  and  that  reason.  Cer- 
tainly 1  have  left  in  the  text  a  number  of  things 
which  I  would  not  write  at  present.  But  the 
prime  duty  of  this  book  is  to  give  a  picture  of 
myself  as  I  was  thirty  years  ago,  not  as  I  am 
now  ;  it  must  show  enough  of  the  good  and  the 
bad  to  make  the  likeness  fairly  authentic.  The 
psychology  of  the  total  life  should  be  finally  the 
main  interest;  hence  the  data  must  be  reasonably 
accurate,  if  anybody  wishes  to  see  the  entire 
evolution  of  the  man  and  his  works. 

The  materials  of  the  preceding  book  are  con- 
tained chiefly  in  a  series  of  letters  written  from 
Europe  and  preserved  in  copies  and  origi- 
nals. But  I  have  also  drawn  upon  two  other 
sources  which  should  be  mentioned.  The  first  is 
a  quantity  of  note-books,  diaries,  items   which 


.      A   TOUR  JX  ElliOl'i:.  •'■'•'5 

were  written  on  the  spot,  luought  across  the 
ocean,  and  stored  awar  in  a  safe  nook  till  they 
were  exhumed  from  the  dust  during  the  present 
year  for  the  present  purpose,  never  having  been 
read  as  a  whole  by  nie  before  on  this  side  of 
the  water.  Many  were  the  surprises  which  they 
gave  me,  recalling  old  forgotten  things,  some 
of  which  were  buried  so  deep  in  Lethe's  stream 
that  I  cannot  now  recollect  that  they  ever  took 
place,  though  they  nmst,  as  they  stand  definitely 
recorded  in  time  and  locality  and  circumstance. 
On  the  other  hand  the  second  source  is  that  of 
pure  memory,  which  has  retained  and  kept  alive 
numerous  characteristic  facts  and  events  of  which 
there  is  no  contemporary  record  in  the  letters  or 
in  the  diaries.  Such  a  curious  sport  and  sup- 
port our  memory  furnishes  us:  what  we  neglect 
to  set  down  in  writing  at  the  moment  and  in 
presence  of  the  object  or  event,  is  often  the 
weightiest  part  of  it,  which,  however,  we  remem- 
ber, and  call  up  when  needed  and  thus  keep  fresh 
by  a  kind  of  traditional  transmission.  From  the 
first  month  after  my  arrival  home  1  began  to 
narrate  the  incidents  of  my  Greek  trip  to  friends 
and  even  to  little  audiences ;  of  some  of  the  most 
siofniticant  of  these  incidents  there  is  no  trace  in 
the  original  accounts.  So  I  have  supi)lied  them 
from  Memory,  which  has  not  only  preserved  them 
but  kept  them  in  activity  through  repeated 
rehearsals. 


596  POSTSCIilPT. 

I  have  asked  myself  the  question :  Were  these 
letters  intended  for  publication  when  written? 
The  reader  has  probably  had  a  similar  query. 
After  so  long  a  time  the  mind  refuses  to  give 
particulars  in  such  a  matter ;  but  so  much  can 
be  affirmed :  they  were  left  to  wait  till  the  later 
life  of  the  author  had  given  to  them  their  place 
and  value.  Otherwise  they  would  have  been 
burned,  or  perchance  printed  as  soon  as  the 
Walk  in  Hellas,  before  which  indeed  they  had 
been  written.  As  far  as  can  now  be  remembered, 
that  which  has  happened  to  them,  was  in  a  vague 
way  purposed  from  the  start.  Time  had  to  ap- 
prove their  appearance,  ere  they  could  be  born 
into  print  even  for  those  who  may  now  have  an 
interest  in  what  they  record. 

I  may  add  that  the  diaries  and  memories  had 
to  be  re-written,  and  adapted  to  their  connection. 
The  facts,  however,  all  belong  to  the  one  period, 
and  are  bound  together  in  the  unity  of  the  one 
experience. 

But  I  can  at  present  say,  looking  backwards 
through  these  past  thirty  years  nearly,  that  this 
European  journey  was  an  episode  wedged  into 
the  center  of  my  life.  Such  a  statement  could 
hardly  be  made  till  now,  when  the  lapse  of  time 
has  put  the  fact  into  its  central  place.  I  was 
thirty-six  years  old  when  I  set  out,  was  thus 
about  "  in  the  middle  of  the  journey  of  our  life," 
according   to    Dante  (who    started    on  his  very 


A  TOUR  IS  EUROPE.  597 

different  itineniry  at  Ihiitj-Hve).  Some  other 
autecedent  facts  I  may  state  for  the  reader's 
assistance,  without  going  into  biographic  details. 
My  profession  was  that  of  a  teacher ;  I  had  been 
connected  with  the  St.  Louis  High  School  for 
the  previous  ten  years.  My  first  book  had  just 
been  published,  under  the  title  of  The  System 
of  Shakespeare's  Dramas.  I  had  been  connected 
with  the  St.  Louis  philosophical  movement, 
which  was  chiefly,  though  not  exclusively  de- 
voted to  the  study  of  Hegel,  but  whose  inspiring 
genius  for  me  was  Governor  Brockmeyer.  So  I 
had  philosophized  a  good  deal ;  but  another  fact 
was  that  I  had  also  poetized  a  good  deal,  though 
in  a  rather  suppressed  way  —  a  tendency  which 
likewise  asserted  itself  in  this  European  journey. 
A  moderate  classical  training  I  had  obtained  in 
my  youth  at  a  fairly  good  College ;  but  its  in- 
struction I  supplemented  by  studies  of  my  own, 
never  letting  them  drop,  so  that  my  Latin  and 
Greek  were  not  rusty  when  I  touched  Italy  and 
Greece,  their  original  homes.  Not  without  some 
preparation  as  well  as  some  predisposition  has 
this  book  turned  out  essentially  a  classical  tour, 
a  movement  toward  and  perchance  into  the  heart 
of  the  antique  world,  or,  if  the  expression  be 
taken  aright,  an  Itinerary  to  Hellenic  Heathen- 
dom. 


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